T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE 


AS    I  KNEW  HIM 


BY  THE  LATE 


T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE 


r.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE 

AS    I     KNEW    HIM 


REV.  T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE,  D.D. 


T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE 

AS  I  KNEW  HIM 


BY     THI     LATE 

T.   DE  WITT  ^TALMAGE,   D.D. 

WITH    CONCLUDING    CHAPTKR8    BY 

MRS.  T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK : 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

1912 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

FIRST  MILESTONE 

I 

SECOND  MILESTONE 

13 

THIRD  MILESTONE 

32 

FOURTH  MILESTONE 

48 

FIFTH  MILESTONE 

68 

SIXTH  MILESTONE 

96 

SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

112 

EIGHTH  MILESTONE 

130 

NINTH  MILESTONE 

151 

TENTH  MILESTONE 

•  •   169 

ELEVENTH  MILESTONI 

:       186 

TWELFTH  MILESTONE 

202 

THIRTEENTH  MILESTO 

NE 211 

FOURTEENTH  MILESTC 

)NE 230 

FIFTEENTH  MILESTON 

E         249 

SIXTEENTH  MILESTON 

E         268 

SEVENTEENTH  MILES! 

'ONE 285 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETC 

H   OF   HIS   LAST  MILESTONES— 

FIRST  MILESTONE 

3" 

SECOND  MILESTON" 

E          328 

THIRD  MILESTONE 

343 

LAST  MILESTONE 

392 

LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  REV.  T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE,  D.D.    . 


Frontispiece 


DAVID   AND   CATHERINE   TALMAGE— PARENTS 

OF  DR.  T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE to  face  pace      4 


DR.  TALMAGE  IN  HIS   FIRST  CHURCH,  BELLE- 
VILLE, NEW  JERSEY        

DR.    TALMAGE    AS    CHAPLAIN    OF    THE   THIR- 
TEENTH REGIMENT  OF  NEW  YORK 


THE  THIRD  BROOKLYN  TABERNACLE 

THE    FIRST    PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH,    WASH- 
INGTON   D.C 

DR.  AND  MRS.  T.  DE  WITT  TALMAGE 

FACSIMILE  OF  PRESIDENT  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S 
LETTER  


26 


5) 
5) 

55 
55 

221 

55 

55 

55 

252 
296 

" 

312 

11 

„ 

398 

PREFACE 

I  write  this  story  of  my  life,  first  of  all  for  my 
children.  How  much  would  I  now  give  for  a  full 
account  of  my  father's  life  written  by  his  own 
hand  !  That  which  merely  goes  from  lip  to  ear  is 
apt  to  be  soon  forgotten.  The  generations  move 
on  so  rapidly  that  events  become  confused.  I 
said  to  my  son,  "  Do  you  remember  that  time  in 
Philadelphia,  during  the  war,  when  I  received  a 
telegram  saying  several  hundred  wounded  soldiers 
would  arrive  next  day,  and  we  suddenly  extem- 
porised a  hospital  and  all  turned  in  to  the  help 
of  the  suffering  soldiers  ?  "  My  son's  reply  was, 
"  My  memory  of  that  occurrence  is  not  very 
distinct,  as  it  took  place  six  years  before  I  was 
born."  The  fact  is  that  we  think  our  children 
know  many  things  concerning  which  they  know 
nothing  at  all. 

But,  outside  my  own  family,  I  am  sure  that  there 
are  many  who  would  like  to  read  about  what  I 
have  been  doing,  thinking,  enjoying,  and  hoping 
all  these  years  ;  for  through  the  publication  of 
my  entire  Sermons,  as  has  again  and  again  been 
demonstrated,  I  have  been  brought  into  contact 
with  the  minds  of  more  people,  and  for  a  longer 
time,  than  most  men.  This  I  mean  not  in  boast, 
but  as  a  reason  for  thinking  that  this  auto- 
biography   may    have    some    attention    outside 


viii  PREFACE 

of  my  own  circle,  and  I  mention  it  also  in 
gratitude  to  God,  Who  has  for  so  long  a  time 
given  me  this  unlimited  and  almost  miraculous 
opportunity. 

Each  life  is  different  from  every  other  life. 
God  never  repeats  Himself,  and  He  never  intended 
two  men  to  be  alike,  or  two  women  to  be  alike,  or 
two  children  to  be  alike.  This  infinite  variety  of 
character  and  experience  makes  the  story  of  any 
life  interesting,  if  that  story  be  clearly  and 
accurately  told. 

I  am  now  in  the  full  play  of  my  faculties,  and 
without  any  apprehension  of  early  departure,  not 
having  had  any  portents,  nor  seen  the  moon  over 
my  left  shoulder,  nor  had  a  salt-cellar  upset,  nor 
seen  a  bat  fly  into  the  window,  nor  heard  a 
cricket  chirp  from  the  hearth,  nor  been  one  of 
thirteen  persons  at  a  table.  But  my  common 
sense,  and  the  family  record,  and  the  almanac  tell 
me  it  must  be  "  towards  evening." 


T.   DE    WITT  TALMAGE 

AS   I    KNEW   HIM 


FIRST  MILESTONE 

1832—1845 

Our  family  Bible,  in  the  record  just  between  the 
Old  and  the  New  Testaments,  has  this  entry  : 
"  Thomas  DeWitt,  Born  January  7,  1832."  I  was 
the  youngest  of  a  family  of  twelve  children,  all  of 
whom  lived  to  grow  up  except  the  first,  and  she 
was  an  invalid  child. 

I  was  the  child  of  old  age.  My  nativity,  I  am 
told,  was  not  heartily  welcomed,  for  the  family 
was  already  within  one  of  a  dozen,  and  the 
means  of  support  were  not  superabundant.  I 
arrived  at  Middlebrook,  New  Jersey,  while  my 
father  kept  the  toll-gate,  at  which  business  the 
older  children  helped  him,  but  I  was  too  small  to 
be  of  service.  I  have  no  memory  of  residence 
there,  except  the  day  of  departure,  and  that  only 
emphasised  by  the  fact  that  we  left  an  old  cat 
which  had  purred  her  way  into  my  affections,  and 
separation  from  her  was  my  first  sorrow,  so  far  as 
I  can  remember. 

In  that  home  at  Middlebrook,  and  in  the  few 
years  after,  I  went  through  the  entire  curriculum 
of  infantile  ailments.   The  first  of  these  was  scarlet 


2  THE   FIRST   MILESTONE 

fever,  which  so  nearly  consummated  its  fell  work 
on  me  that  I  was  given  up  by  the  doctors  as 
doomed  to  die,  and,  according  to  custom  in  those 
times  in  such  a  case,  my  grave  clothes  were  com- 
pleted, the  neighbours  gathering  for  that  purpose. 
During  those  early  years  I  took  such  a  large  share 
of  epidemics  that  I  have  never  been  sick  since  with 
anything  worthy  of  being  called  illness.  I  never 
knew  or  heard  of  anyone  who  has  had  such  re- 
markable and  unvarying  health  as  I  have  had, 
and  I  mention  it  with  gratitude  to  God,  in  whose 
"  hand  our  breath  is,  and  all  our  ways." 

The  "  grippe,"  as  it  is  called,  touched  me  at 
Vienna  when  on  my  way  from  the  Holy  Land,  but 
I  felt  it  only  half  a  day,  and  never  again  since. 

I  often  wonder  what  has  become  of  our  old 
cradle  in  which  all  of  us  children  were  rocked  ! 
We  were  a  large  family,  and  that  old  cradle  was 
going  a  good  many  years.  I  remember  just  how 
it  looked.  It  was  old-fashioned  and  had  no 
tapestry.  Its  two  sides  and  canopy  were  of  plain 
wood,  but  there  was  a  great  deal  of  sound  sleeping 
in  that  cradle,  and  many  aches  and  pains  were 
soothed  in  it.  Most  vividly  I  remember  that  the 
rockers,  which  came  out  from  under  the  cradle, 
were  on  the  top  and  side  very  smooth,  so  smooth 
that  they  actually  glistened.  But  it  went  right 
on  and  rocked  for  Phcebe  the  first,  and  for  DeWitt 
the  last. 

There  were  no  lords  or  baronets  or  princes  in 
our  ancestral  line.  None  wore  stars,  cockade,  or 
crest.  There  was  once  a  family  coat-of-arms,  but 
we  were  none  of  us  wise  enough  to  tell  its  meaning. 
Do  our  best,  we  cannot  find  anything  about  our 
forerunners  except  that  they  behaved  well,  came 
over  from  Wales  or  Holland  a  good  while  ago,  and 
died  when  their  time  came.  Some  of  them  may 
have  had  fine  equipages  and  postilions,  but  the  most 


MY   PARENTS  3 

of  them  were  sure  only  of  footmen.  My  father 
started  in  life  belonging  to  the  aristocracy  of  hard 
knuckles  and  homespun,  but  had  this  high  honour 
that  no  one  could  despise  :  he  was  the  son  of  a 
father  who  loved  God  and  kept  His  commandments. 
Two  eyes,  two  hands,  and  two  feet  were  the 
capital  my  father  started  with. 

Benignity,  kindness,  keen  humour,  broad  com- 
mon sense  and  industry  characterised  my  mother. 
The  Reverend  Dr.  Chambers  was  for  many  years 
her  pastor.  He  had  fifty  years  of  pastorate  service, 
in  Somerville,  N.J.,  and  the  Collegiate  Church, 
New  York.  He  said,  in  an  address  at  the  dedi- 
cation of  the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle,  that  my  mother 
was  the  most  consecrated  Christian  person  he  had 
ever  known.  My  mother  worked  very  hard,  and 
when  we  would  come  in  and  sit  down  at  the  table  at 
noon,  I  remember  how  she  used  to  look.  There 
were  beads  of  perspiration  along  the  line  of  her 
grey  hair,  and  sometimes  she  would  sit  down  at 
the  table,  and  put  her  head  against  her  wrinkled 
hand  and  say,  "  Well,  the  fact  is,  I'm  too  tired 
to  eat." 

My  father  was  a  religious,  hard-working,  honest 
man.  Every  day  began  and  closed  with  family 
worship,  led  by  my  father,  or,  in  case  of  his 
absence,  by  Mother.  That  which  was  evidently 
uppermost  in  the  minds  of  my  parents,  and  that 
which  was  the  most  pervading  principle  in  their 
lives,  was  the  Christian  religion.  The  family 
Bible  held  a  perfect  fascination  for  me,  not  a  page 
that  was  not  discoloured  either  with  time  or  tears. 
My  parents  read  out  of  it  as  long  as  I  can  remem- 
ber. When  my  brother  Van  Nest  died  in  a 
foreign  land,  and  the  news  came  to  our  country 
home,  that  night  they  read  the  eternal  consolations 
out  of  the  old  book.  When  my  brother  David  died 
that    book    comforted    the    old    people    in   their 


4  THE   FIRST   MILESTONE 

trouble.  My  father  in  mid-life,  fifteen  years  an 
invalid,  out  of  that  book  read  of  the  ravens  that 
fed  Elijah  all  through  the  hard  struggle  for  bread. 
When  my  mother  died  that  book  illumined  the 
dark  valley.  In  the  years  that  followed  of  lone- 
liness, it  comforted  my  father  with  the  thought  of 
reunion,  which  took  place  afterward  in  Heaven. 

To  the  wonderful  conversion  of  my  grandfather 
and  grandmother,  in  those  grand  old  days  of  our 
declaration  of  independence,  I  trace  the  whole 
purpose,  trend,  and  energies  of  my  life.  I  have 
told  the  story  of  the  conversion  of  my  grandfather 
and  grandmother  before.  I  repeat  it  here,  for  my 
children. 

My  grandfather  and  grandmother  went  from 
Somerville  to  Baskenridge  to  attend  revival 
meetings  under  the  ministry  of  Dr.  Finney.  They 
were  so  impressed  with  the  meetings  that  when 
they  came  back  to  Somerville  they  were  seized 
upon  by  a  great  desire  for  the  salvation  of  their 
children.  That  evening  the  children  were  going 
off  for  a  gay  party,  and  my  grandmother  said  to 
the  children,  "  When  you  get  all  ready  for  the 
entertainment,  come  into  my  room  ;  I  have  some- 
thing very  important  to  tell  you."  After  they 
were  all  ready  they  came  into  my  grandmother's 
room,  and  she  said  to  them,  "Go  and  have  a  good 
time,  but  while  you  are  gone  I  want  you  to  know 
Ifam  praying  for  you  and  will  do  nothing  but  pray 
for  you  until  you  get  back."  They  did  not  enjoy 
the  entertainment  much  because  they  thought  all 
the  time  of  the  fact  that  Mother  was  praying  for 
them.  The  evening  passed.  The  next  day  my 
grandparents  heard  sobbing  and  crying  in  the 
daughter's  room,  and  they  went  in  and  found 
her  praying  for  the  salvation  of  God,  and  her 
daughter  Phoebe  said,  "  I  wish  you  would 
go    to    the    barn    and    to    the    waggon-house 


MY   PARENTS'   CONVERSION  5 

for  Jehiel  and  David  (the  brothers)  are  under 
powerful  conviction  of  sin."  My  grandparent 
went  to  the  barn,  and  Jehiel,  who  afterward 
became  a  useful  minister  of  the  Gospel,  was 
imploring  the  mercy  of  Christ;  and  then, 
having  first  knelt  with  him  and  commended  his 
soul  to  Christ,  they  went  to  the  waggon-house, 
and  there  was  David  crying  for  the  salvation  of 
his  soul — David,  who  afterward  became  my 
father.  David  could  not  keep  the  story  to  himself, 
and  he  crossed  the  fields  to  a  farmhouse  and  told 
one  to  whom  he  had  been  affianced  the  story  of 
his  own  salvation,  and  she  yielded  her  heart  to 
God.  The  story  of  the  converted  household 
went  all  through  the  neighbourhood.  In  a  few 
weeks  two  hundred  souls  stood  up  in  the  plain 
meeting  house  at  Somerville  to  profess  faith  in 
Christ,  among  them  David  and  Catherine,  after- 
ward my  parents. 

My  mother,  impressed  with  that,  in  after  life, 
when  she  had  a  large  family  of  children  gathered 
around  her,  made  a  covenant  with  three  neigh- 
bours, three  mothers.  They  would  meet  once  a 
week  to  pray  for  the  salvation  of  their  children 
until  all  their  children  were  converted — this  inci- 
dent was  not  known  until  after  my  mother's  death, 
the  covenant  then  being  revealed  by  one  of  the 
survivors.  We  used  to  say  :  "  Mother,  where  are 
you  going  ?  "  and  she  would  say,  "  I  am  just 
going  out  a  little  while  ;  going  over  to  the  neigh- 
bours." They  kept  on  in  that  covenant  until  all 
their  families  were  brought  into  the  kingdom  of 
God,  myself  the  last,  and  I  trace  that  line  of 
results  back  to  that  evening  when  my  grand- 
mother commended  our  family  to  Christ,  the  tide 
of  influence  going  on  until  this  hour,  and  it  will 
never  cease. 

My   mother   died   in   her   seventy-sixth   year. 


6  THE   FIRST  MILESTONE 

Through  a  long  life  of  vicissitude  she  lived  harm- 
lessly and  usefully,  and  came  to  her  end  in  peace. 
We  had  often  heard  her,  when  leading  family 
prayers  in  the  absence  of  my  father,  say,  "  0 
Lord,  I  ask  not  for  my  children  wealth  or  honour, 
but  I  do  ask  that  they  all  may  be  the  subjects  of 
Thy  converting  grace."  Her  eleven  children 
brought  into  the  kingdom  of  God,  she  had  but  one 
more  wish,  and  that  was  that  she  might  see  her 
long-absent  missionary  son,  and  when  the  ship 
from  China  anchored  in  New  York  harbour,  and 
the  long-absent  one  passed  over  the  threshold  of 
his  paternal  home,  she  said,  "  Lord,  now  lettest 
Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace,  for  mine  eyes 
have  seen  Thy  salvation."  The  prayer  was  soon 
answered. 

My  father,  as  long  as  I  can  remember,  was  an 
elder  in  churches.  He  conducted  prayer-meetings 
in  the  country,  when  he  was  sometimes  the  only 
man  to  take  part,  giving  out  a  hymn  and  leading 
the  singing ;  then  reading  the  Scriptures  and 
offering  prayer  ;  then  giving  out  another  hymn 
and  leading  in  that ;  and  then  praying  again  ; 
and  so  continuing  the  meeting  for  the  usual  length 
of  time,  and  with  no  lack  of  interest. 

When  the  church  choir  would  break  down, 
everybody  looked  around  to  see  if  he  were  not 
ready  with  "Woodstock,"  "Mount  Pisgah  "  or 
"  Uxbridge."  And  when  all  his  familiar  tunes 
failed  to  express  the  joy  of  his  soul,  he  would  take 
up  his  own  pen,  draw  five  long  lines  across  the 
sheet,  put  in  the  notes,  and  then  to  the  tune  he 
called  "  Bound  Brook,"  begin  to  sing  : 


As  when  the  weary  traveller  gains 
The  height  of  some  o'erlooking  hill, 

His  heart  revives  if  'cross  the  plains 
He  eyes  his  home,  though  distant  still ; 


MY   FEARLESS   FATHER  7 

Thus,  when  the  Christian  pilgrim  views, 

By  faith,  his  mansion  in  the  skies, 
The  sight  his  fainting  strength  renews, 

And  wings  his  speed  to  reach  the  prize. 

'Tis  there,  he  says,  I  am  to  dwell 

With  Jesus  in  the  realms  of  day ; 
There  I  shall  bid  my  cares  farewell 
And  He  will  wipe  my  tears  away. 

He  knew  about  all  the  cheerful  tunes  that  were 
ever  printed  in  old  "  New  Brunswick  Collection," 
and  the  "  Shun  way,"  and  the  sweetest  melodies 
that  Thomas  Hastings  ever  composed.  He  took 
the  pitch  of  sacred  song  on  Sabbath  morning,  and 
kept  it  through  all  the  week. 

My  father  was  the  only  person  whom  I  ever 
knew  without  any  element  of  fear.  I  do  not 
believe  he  understood  the  sensation. 

Seated  in  a  waggon  one  day  during  a  runaway  y' 
that  every  moment  threatened  our  demolition,  he 
was  perfectly  calm.  He  turned  around  to  me,  a 
boy  of  seven  years,  and  said,  "  DeWitt,  what  are 
you  crying  about  ?  I  guess  we  can  ride  as  fast  as 
they  can  run." 

There  was  one  scene  I  remember,  that  showed 
his  poise  and  courage  as  nothing  else  could.  He 
was  Sheriff  of  Somerset  County,  N.J.,  and  we 
lived  in  the  court  house,  attached  to  which  was  the 
County  Jail.  During  my  father's  absence  one  day 
a  prisoner  got  playing  the  maniac,  dashing  things 
to  pieces,  vociferating  horribly,  and  flourishing  a 
knife  with  which  he  had  threatened  to  carve  any 
one  who  came  near  the  wicket  of  his  prison. 
Constables  were  called  in  to  quell  this  real  or 
dramatised  maniac,  but  they  fell  back  in  terror 
from  the  door  of  the  prison.  Their  show  of  fire- 
arms made  no  impression  upon  the  demented 
wretch.  After  awhile  my  father  returned  and  was 
told  of  the  trouble,  and  indeed  he  heard  it  before 


8  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

he  reached  home.  The  whole  family  implored 
him  not  to  go  near  the  man  who  was  cursing,  and 
armed  with  a  knife.  But  father  could  not  be 
deterred.  He  did  not  stand  outside  the  door  and 
at  a  safe  distance,  but  took  the  key  and  opened  the 
door,  and  without  any  weapon  of  defence  came 
upon  the  man,  thundering  at  him,  "  Sit  down  and 
give  me  that  knife  !  "  The  tragedy  was  ended. 
I  never  remember  to  have  heard  him  make  a 
gloomy  remark.  This  was  not  because  he  had  no 
perception  of  the  pollutions  of  society.  I  once 
said  to  my  father,  "  Are  people  so  much  worse 
now  than  they  used  to  be  ?  "  He  made  no  answer 
for  a  minute,  for  the  old  people  do  not  like  to 
confess  much  to  the  boys.  But  after  awhile  his 
eye  twinkled  and  he  said  :  "  Well,  DeWitt,  the 
fact  is  that  people  were  never  any  better  than 
they  ought  to  be." 

Ours  was  an  industrious  home.  I  was  brought 
up  to  regard  laziness  as  an  abominable  disease. 
Though  we  were  some  years  of  age  before  we 
heard  the  trill  of  a  piano,  we  knew  well  all  about 
the  song  of  "  The  Spinning- Wheel." 

Through  how  many  thrilling  scenes  my  father 
had  passed  !  He  stood,  at  Morristown,  in  the  choir 
that  chanted  when  George  Washington  was 
buried  ;  talked  with  young  men  whose  fathers  he 
had  held  on  his  knee;  watched  the  progress  of 
John  Adams's  administration;  denounced,  at  the 
time,  Aaron  Burr's  infamy  ;  heard  the  guns  that 
celebrated  the  New  Orleans  victory;  voted  against 
Jackson,  but  lived  long  enough  to  wish  we  had 
another  just  like  him  ;  remembered  when  the  first 
steamer  struck  the  North  river  with  its  wheel- 
buckets  ;  was  startled  by  the  birth  of  telegraphy  ; 
saw  the  United  States  grow  from  a  speck  on  the 
world's  map  till  all  nations  dip  their  flag  at  our 
passing  merchantmen.     He  was  born  while  the 


MY  BOYHOOD  HOME  9 

Revolutionary  cannon  were  coming  home  from 
Yorktown,  and  lived  to  hear  the  tramp  of  troops 
returning  from  the  war  of  the  great  Rebellion. 
He  lived  to  speak  the  names  of  eighty  children, 
grand-children  and  great-grand-children.  He 
died  just  three  years  from  the  day  when  my 
mother  sped  on. 

When  my  father  lay  dying  the  old  country 
minister  said  to  him,  "  Mr.  Talmage,  how  do  you 
feel  now  as  you  are  about  to  pass  the  Jordan  of 
death  ?  "  He  replied — and  it  was  the  last  thing 
he  ever  said — "  I  feel  well ;  I  feel  very  well ;  all  is 
well  " — lifting  his  hand  in  a  benediction,  a  speech- 
less benediction,  which  I  pray  God  may  go  down 
through  all  the  generations — "  It  is  well !  " 

Four  of  his  sons  became  ministers  of  the 
Gospel  :  Reverend  James  R.  Talmage,  D.D.,  who 
was  preaching  before  I  was  born,  and  who  died  in 
1879  ;  Reverend  John  Van  Nest  Talmage,  D.D., 
who  spent  his  life  as  a  missionary  in  China,  and 
died  in  the  summer  of  1892  ;  Reverend  Goyn 
Talmage,  D.D.,  who  after  doing  a  great  work  for 
God,  died  in  1891.  But  all  my  brothers  and  sisters 
were  decidedly  Christian,  lived  usefully  and  died 
peacefully. 

I  rejoice  to  remember  that  though  my  father 
lived  in  a  plain  house  the  most  of  his  days,  he 
died  in  a  mansion  provided  by  the  filial  piety  of 
his  son  who  had  achieved  a  fortune. 

The  house  at  Gateville,  near  Bound  Brook,  in 
which  I  was  born,  has  gone  down.  Not  one  stone 
has  been  left  upon  another.  I  one  day  picked  up 
a  fragment  of  the  chimney,  or  wall,  and  carried  it 
home.  But  the  home  that  I  associate  with  my 
childhood  was  about  three  miles  from  Somerville, 
N.J.  The  house,  the  waggon-shed,  the  barn,  are 
now  just  as  I  remember  them  from  childhood  days. 
It  was  called  "  Uncle  John's  Place  "  from  the  fact 


10  THE   FIRST   MILESTONE 

that  my  mother's  uncle,  John  Van  Nest,  owned  it, 
and  from  him  my  father  rented  it  "on  shares." 
Here  I  rode  the  horse  to  brook.  Here  I  hunted 
for  and  captured  Easter  eggs.  Here  the  natural 
world  made  its  deepest  impression  on  me.  Here 
I  learned  some  of  the  fatigues  and  hardships  of 
the  farmer's  life — not  as  I  felt  them,  but  as  my 
father  and  mother  endured  them.  Here  my 
brother  Daniel  brought  home  his  bride.  From 
here  I  went  to  the  country  school.  Here  in  the 
evening  the  family  were  gathered,  mother  knitting 
or  sewing,  father  vehemently  talking  politics  or 
religion  with  some  neighbour  not  right  on  the 
subject  of  the  tariff,  or  baptism,  and  the  rest  of 
us  reading  or  listening.  All  the  group  are  gone 
except  my  sister  Catherine  and  myself. 

My  childhood,  as  I  look  back  upon  it,  is  to  me 
a  mystery.  While  I  always  possessed  a  keen  sense 
of  the  ludicrous,  and  a  hearty  appreciation  of  fun 
of  all  sorts,  there  was  a  sedate  side  of  my  nature 
that  demonstrated  itself  to  the  older  members  of 
the  family,  and  of  which  they  often  spoke.  For 
half  days,  or  whole  days,  at  a  time  I  remember 
sitting  on  a  small  footstool  beside  an  ordinary 
chair  on  which  lay  open  "  Scott's  Commen- 
taries on  the  Bible."  I  not  only  read  the  Scrip- 
tures out  of  this  book,  but  long  discourses  of 
Thomas  Scott,  and  passages  adjoining.  I  could 
not  have  understood  much  of  these  profound  and 
elaborate  commentaries.  They  were  not  written 
or  printed  for  children,  but  they  had  for  my 
childish  mind  a  fascination  that  kept  me  from 
play,  and  from  the  ordinary  occupations  of 
persons  of  my  years. 

So,  also,  it  was  with  the  religious  literature  of 
the  old-fashioned  kind,  with  which  some  of  the 
tables  of  my  father's  house  were  piled.  Indeed, 
when   afterwards   I  was  living  at  my  brothers' 


EARLY   RELIGIOUS   TENDENCIES     11 

house,  he  a  clergyman,  I  read  through  and  through 
and  through  the  four  or  five  volumes  of  Dwight's 
"  Theology,"  which  must  have  been  a  wading-in 
far  beyond  my  depth.  I  think  if  I  had  not  poss- 
essed an  unusual  resiliency  of  temperament,  the 
reading  and  thinking  so  much  of  things  pertaining 
to  the  soul  and  a  future  state  would  have  made 
me  morbid  and  unnatural.  This  tendency  to 
read  and  think  in  sacred  directions  was  not  a 
case  of  early  piety.  I  do  not  know  what  it  was. 
I  suppose  in  all  natures  there  are  things  inex- 
plicable. How  strange  is  the  phenomenon  of 
childhood  days  to  an  old  man! 

How  well  I  remember  Sanderson's  stage  coach, 
running  from  New  Brunswick  to  Easton,  as  he 
drove  through  Somerville,  New  Jersey,  turning 
up  to  the  post-office  and  dropping  the  mail-bags 
with  ten  letters  and  two  or  three  newspapers  ! 
On  the  box  Sanderson  himself,  six  feet  two 
inches,  and  well  proportioned,  long  lash-whip  in 
one  hand,  the  reins  of  six  horses  in  the  other,  the 
"  leaders  "  lathered  along  the  lines  of  the  traces, 
foam  dripping  from  the  bits  !  It  was  the  event 
of  the  day  when  the  stage  came.  It  was  our 
highest  ambition  to  become  a  stage-driver.  Some 
of  the  boys  climbed  on  the  great  leathern  boot 
of  the  stage,  and  those  of  us  who  could  not  get 
on  shouted  "  Cut  behind  !  "  I  saw  the  old 
stage- driver  not  long  ago,  and  I  expressed  to 
him  my  surprise  that  one  around  whose  head  I 
had  seen  a  halo  of  glory  in  my  boyhood  time  was 
only  a  man  like  the  rest  of  us.  Between  Sander- 
son's stage-coach  and  a  Chicago  express  train, 
what  a  difference  ! 

And  I  shall  always  marvel  at  our  family 
doctor.  Dear  old  Dr.  Skillman  !  My  father's 
doctor,  my  mother's  doctor,  in  the  village  home! 
He  carried  all  the  confidences  of  all  the  families 


12  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

for  ten  miles  around.  We  all  felt  better  as  soon 
as  we  saw  him  enter  the  house.  His  face  pro- 
nounced a  beatitude  before  he  said  a  word.  He 
welcomed  all  of  us  children  into  life,  and  he  closed 
the  old  people's  eyes. 


THE  SECOND  MILESTONE 

1845—1869 

When  moving  out  of  a  house  I  have  always  been 
in  the  habit,  after  everything  was  gone,  of  going 
into  each  room  and  bidding  it  a  mute  farewell. 
There  are  the  rooms  named  after  the  different 
members  of  the  family.  I  suppose  it  is  so  in  all 
households.  It  was  so  in  mine  ;  we  named  the 
rooms  after  the  persons  who  occupied  them.  I 
moved  from  the  house  of  my  boyhood  with  a 
sort  of  mute  affection  for  its  remembrances  that 
are  most  vivid  in  its  hours  of  crisis  and  medita- 
tion. Through  all  the  years  that  have  intervened 
there  is  no  holier  sanctuary  to  me  than  the 
memory  of  my  mother's  vacant  chair.  I  remem- 
ber it  well.  It  made  a  creaking  noise  as  it  moved. 
It  was  just  high  enough  to  allow  us  children  to 
put  our  heads  into  her  lap.  That  was  the  bank 
where  we  deposited  all  our  hurts  and  worries. 

Some  time  ago,  in  an  express  train,  I  shot  past 
that  old  homestead.  I  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  tried  to  peer  through  the  darkness.  While 
I  was  doing  so,  one  of  my  old  schoolmates,  whom 
I  had  not  seen  for  many  years,  tapped  me  on  the 
shoulder,  and  said  :  "  DeWitt,  I  see  you  are 
looking    out   at   the    scenes    of   your   boyhood." 

13 


14  THE   SECOND  MILESTONE 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  was  looking  out  at  the 
old  place  where  my  mother  lived  and  died." 

I  pass  over  the  boyhood  days  and  the  country 
school.  The  first  real  breath  of  life  is  in  young 
manhood,  when,  with  the  strength  of  the  un- 
known, he  dares  to  choose  a  career.  I  first 
studied  for  the  law,  at  the  New  York  University. 

New  York  in  1850  was  a  small  place  compared 
to  the  New  York  of  to-day,  but  it  had  all  the 
effervescence  and  glitter  of  the  entire  country 
even  then.  I  shall  never  forget  the  excitement 
when  on  September  1st,  1850,  Jenny  Lind  landed 
from  the  steamer  "  Atlantic."  Not  merely  be- 
cause of  her  reputation  as  a  singer,  but  because  of 
her  fame  for  generosity  and  kindness  were  the 
people  aroused  to  welcome  her.  The  first  §10,000 
she  earned  in  America  she  devoted  to  charity, 
and  in  all  the  cities  of  America  she  poured  forth 
her  benefactions.  Castle  Garden  was  then  the 
great  concert  hall  of  New  York,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  night  of  her  first  appearance.  I  was  a 
college  boy,  and  Jenny  Lind  was  the  first  great 
singer  I  ever  heard.  There  were  certain  cadences 
in  her  voice  that  overwhelmed  the  audience  with 
emotion.  I  remember  a  clergyman  sitting  near 
me  who  was  so  overcome  that  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  auditorium.  The  school  of  suffering  and 
sorrow  had  done  as  much  for  her  voice  as  the 
Academy  of  Stockholm. 

The  woman  who  had  her  in  charge  when  a  child 
used  to  lock  her  in  a  room  when  she  went  off  to 
the  daily  work.  There  by  the  hour  Jenny  would 
sit  at  the  window,  her  only  amusement  singing, 
while  she  stroked  her  cat  on  her  lap.  But  sitting 
there  by  the  window  her  voice  fell  on  a  listener  in 
the  street.  The  listener  called  a  music  master  to 
stand  by  the  same  window,  and  he  was  fascinated 
and  amazed,  and  took  the  child  to  the  director  of 


JENNY   LIND  15 

the  Royal  Opera,  asking  for  her  the  advantages  of 
musical  education,  and  the  director  roughly  said  : 
"  What  shall  we  do  with  that  ugly  thing  ?  See 
what  feet  she  has.  And,  then,  her  face ;  she  will 
never  be  presentable.  No,  we  can't  take  her. 
Away  with  her!"  But  God  had  decreed  for  this 
child  of  nature  a  grand  career,  and  all  those 
sorrows  were  woven  into  her  faculty  of  song. 
She  never  could  have  been  what  she  became, 
royally  arrayed  on  the  platforms  of  Berlin  and 
Vienna  and  Paris  and  London  and  New  York,  had 
she  not  first  been  the  poor  girl  in  the  garret  at 
Stockholm.  She  had  been  perfected  through 
suffering.  That  she  was  genuinely  Christian  I 
prove  not  more  from  her  charities  than  from  these 
words  which  she  wrote  in  an  album  during  her 
triumphal  American  tour  : 

In  vain  I  seek  for  rest 

In  all  created  good ; 
It  leaves  me  still  unblest 

And  makes  me  cry  for  God. 
And  safe  at  rest  I  cannot  be 
Until  my  heart  finds  rest  in  Thee. 

There  never  was  anyone  who  could  equal  Jenny 
Lind  in  the  warble.  Some  said  it  was  like  a  lark, 
but  she  surpassed  the  lark.  Oh,  what  a  warble  ! 
I  hear  it  yet.  All  who  heard  it  thirty-five  years 
ago  are  hearing  it  yet. 

I  should  probably  have  been  a  lawyer,  except 
for  the  prayers  of  my  mother  and  father  that  I 
should  preach  the  Gospel.  Later,  I  entered  the 
New  Brunswick  Theological  Seminary.  Why  I 
ever  thought  of  any  other  work  in  the  world  than 
that  which  I  have  done,  is  another  mystery  of  my 
youth.  Everything  in  my  heredity  and  in  my 
heart  indicated  my  career  as  a  preacher.  And 
yet,  in  the  days  of  my  infancy  I  was  carried  by 


16  THE   SECOND  MILESTONE 

Christian  parents  to  the  house  of  God,  and  conse- 
crated in  baptism  to  the  Father,  and  the  Son,  and 
the  Holy  Ghost ;  but  that  did  not  save  me.  In 
after  time  I  was  taught  to  kneel  at  the  Christian 
family  altar  with  father  and  mother  and  brothers 
and  sisters.  In  after  time  I  read  Doddridge's 
"  Rise  and  Progress,"  and  Baxter's  "  Call  to  the 
Unconverted,"  and  all  the  religious  books  around 
my  father's  household  ;  but  that  did  not  save  me. 
But  one  day  the  voice  of  Christ  came  into  my 
heart  saying,  "  Repent,  repent ;  believe,  believe," 
and  I  accepted  the  offer  of  mercy. 

It  happened  this  way :  Truman  Osborne,  one  of 
the  evangelists  who  went  through  this  country 
some  years  ago,  had  a  wonderful  art  in  the  right 
direction.  He  came  to  my  father's  house  one 
day,  and  while  we  were  all  seated  in  the  room,  he 
said  :  "  Mr.  Talmage,  are  all  your  children 
Christians  ?  "  Father  said  :  "  Yes,  all  but  De 
Witt."  Then  Truman  Osborne  looked  down  into 
the  fireplace,  and  began  to  tell  a  story  of  a  storm 
that  came  on  the  mountains,  and  all  the  sheep 
were  in  the  fold  ;  but  there  was  one  lamb  outside 
that  perished  in  the  storm.  Had  he  looked  me  in 
the  eye,  I  should  have  been  angered  when  he  told 
me  that  story  ;  but  he  looked  into  the  fireplace, 
and  it  was  so  pathetically  and  beautifully  done 
that  I  never  found  any  peace  until  I  was  inside  the 
fold,  where  the  other  sheep  are. 

When  I  was  a  lad  a  book  came  out  entitled 
"Dow  Junior's  Patent  Sermons " ;  it  made  a  great 
stir,  a  very  wide  laugh  all  over  the  country,  that 
book  did.  It  was  a  caricature  of  the  Christian 
ministry  and  of  the  Word  of  God  and  of  the  Day 
of  Judgment.  Oh,  we  had  a  great  laugh  !  The 
commentary  on  the  whole  thing  is  that  the  author 
of  that  book  died  in  poverty,  shame,  debauchery, 
kicked  out  of  society. 


LEAVING   HOME  17 

I  have  no  doubt  that  derision  kept  many  people 
out  of  the  ark.  The  world  laughed  to  see  a  man 
go  in,  and  said,  "  Here  is  a  man  starting  for  the 
ark.  Why,  there  will  be  no  deluge.  If  there  is 
one,  that  miserable  ship  will  not  weather  it.  Aha  ! 
going  into  the  ark  !  Well,  that  is  too  good  to  keep. 
Here,  fellows,  have  you  heard  the  news  ?  This 
man  is  going  into  the  ark."  Under  this  artillery 
of  scorn  the  man's  good  resolution  perished. 

I  was  the  youngest  of  a  large  family  of  children. 
My  parents  were  neither  rich  nor  poor;  four  of  the 
sons  wanted  collegiate  education,  and  four  ob- 
tained it,  but  not  without  great  home-struggle. 
The  day  I  left  our  country  home  to  look  after 
myself  we  rode  across  the  country,  and  my  father 
was  driving.  He  began  to  tell  how  good  the 
Lord  had  been  to  him,  in  sickness  and  in  health, 
and  when  times  of  hardship  came  how  Providence 
had  always  provided  the  means  of  livelihood  for 
the  large  household  ;  and  he  wound  up  by  saying, 
■*  De  Witt,  I  have  always  found  it  safe  to  trust  the 
Lord."  I  have  felt  the  mighty  impetus  of  that 
lesson  in  the  farm  waggon.  It  has  been  fulfilled 
in  my  own  life  and  in  the  lives  of  many  conse- 
crated men  and  women  I  have  known. 

In  the  minister's  house  where  I  prepared  for 
college  there  worked  a  man  by  the  name  of  Peter 
Croy.  He  could  neither  read  nor  write,  but  he 
was  a  man  of  God.  Often  theologians  would 
stop  in  the  house — grave  theologians — and  at 
family  prayer  Peter  Croy  would  be  called  upon 
to  lead  ;  and  all  those  wise  men  sat  around, 
wonder-struck  at  his  religious  efficiency. 

In  the  church  at  Somerville,  New  Jersey,  where 
I  was  afterwards  pastor,  John  Vredenburgh 
preached  for  a  great  many  years.  He  felt  that 
his  ministry  was  a  failure,  and  others  felt  so, 
although  he  was  a  faithful  minister  preaching  the 


18  THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

Gospel  all  the  time.  He  died,  and  died  amid 
some  discouragements,  and  went  home  to  God  ; 
for  no  one  ever  doubted  that  John  Vredenburgh 
was  a  good  Christian  minister.  A  little  while  after 
his  death  there  came  a  great  awakening  in  Somer- 
ville,  and  one  Sabbath  two  hundred  souls  stood 
up  at  the  Christian  altar  espousing  the  cause  of 
Christ,  among  them  my  own  father  and  mother. 
And  what  was  peculiar  in  regard  to  nearly  all  of 
those  two  hundred  souls  was  that  they  dated  their 
religious  impressions  from  the  ministry  of  John 
Vredenburgh. 

I  had  no  more  confidence  in  my  own  powers 
when  I  was  studying  for  the  ministry  than  John 
Vredenburgh.  I  was  often  very  discouraged. 
"  DeWitt,"  said  a  man  to  me  as  we  were  walking 
the  fields  at  the  time  I  was  in  the  theological 
school,  "  DeWitt,  if  you  don't  change  your  style 
of  thought  and  expression,  you  will  never  get  a 
call  to  any  church  in  Christendom  as  long  as  you 
live."  "  Well,"  I  replied,  "  if  I  cannot  preach  the 
Gospel  in  America,  then  I  will  go  to  heathen  lands 
and  preach  it."  I  thought  I  might  be  useful  on 
heathen  ground,  if  I  could  ever  learn  the  language 
of  the  Chinese,  about  which  I  had  many  fore- 
bodings. The  foreign  tongue  became  to  me  more 
and  more  an  obstacle  and  a  horror,  until  I  resolved 
if  I  could  get  an  invitation  to  preach  in  the 
English  language,  I  would  accept  it.  So  one  day, 
finding  Rev.  Dr.  Van  Vranken,  one  of  our  theo- 
logical professors  (blessed  be  his  memory),  saun- 
tering in  the  campus  of  Rutgers  College,  I  asked 
him,  with  much  trepidation,  if  he  would  by 
letter  introduce  me  to  some  officer  of  the  Reformed 
Church  at  Belleville,  N.  J.,  the  pulpit  of  which  was 
then  vacant.  With  an  outburst  of  heartiness  he 
replied  :  "  Come  right  into  my  house,  and  I  will 
give  you  the  letter  now."     It  was  a  most  generous 


MY   FIRST   SERMON  19 

introduction  of  me  to  Dr.  Samuel  Ward,  a  venerable 
elder  of  the  Belleville  church.  I  sent  the  letter 
to  the  elder,  and  within  a  week  received  an  invi- 
tation to  occupy  the  vacant  pulpit. 

I  had  been  skirmishing  here  and  there  as  a 
preacher,  now  in  the  basement  of  churches  at 
week-night  religious  meetings,  and  now  in  school- 
houses  on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  here  and  there 
in  pulpits  with  brave  pastors  who  dared  risk 
having  an  inexperienced  theological  student  preach 
to  their  people. 

But  the  first  sermon  with  any  considerable 
responsibility  resting  upon  it  was  the  sermon 
preached  as  a  candidate  for  a  pastoral  call  in  the 
Reformed  Church  at  Belleville,  N.J.  I  was  about 
to  graduate  from  the  New  Brunswick  Theological 
Seminary,  and  wanted  a  Gospel  field  in  which  to 
work.  I  had  already  written  to  my  brother  John, 
a  missionary  at  Amoy,  China,  telling  him  that  I 
expected  to  come  out  there. 

I  was  met  by  Dr.  Ward  at  Newark,  New  Jersey, 
and  taken  to  his  house.  Sabbath  morning  came. 
With  one  of  my  two  sermons,  which  made  up  my 
entire  stock  of  pulpit  resources,  I  tremblingly 
entered  the  pulpit  of  that  brown  stone  village 
church,  which  stands  in  my  memory  as  one  of  the 
most  sacred  places  of  all  the  earth,  where  I  formed 
associations  which  I  expect  to  resume  in  Heaven. 

The  sermon  was  fully  written,  and  was  on  the 
weird  battle  between  the  Gideonites  and  Midian- 
ites,  my  text  being  in  Judges  vii.  20,  21  :  "  The 
three  companies  blew  the  trumpets,  and  brake  the 
pitchers,  and  held  the  lamps  in  their  left  hands, 
and  the  trumpets  in  their  right  hands  to  blow 
withal ;  and  they  cried,  The  sword  of  the  Lord, 
and  of  Gideon.  And  they  stood  every  man  in  his 
place  round  about  the  camp  ;  and  all  the  host  ran, 
and  cried,  and  fled."     A  brave  text,  but  a  very 


20  THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

timid  man  to  handle  it.     I  did  not  feel  at  all  that 
hour  either  like  blowing  Gideon's  trumpet,   or 
holding  up  the  Gospel  lamp  ;    but  if  I  had,  like 
any  of  the  Gideonites,  held  a  pitcher,  I  think  I 
would  have  dropped  it  and  broken  that  lamp.    I 
felt  as  the  moment  approached  for  delivering  my 
sermon  more  like  the  Midianites,  who,  according 
to  my  text,  "  ran,  and  cried,  and  fled."     I  had 
placed  the  manuscript  of  my  sermon  on  the  pulpit 
sofa  beside  where  I  sat.     Looking  around  to  put 
my  hand  on  the  manuscript,  lo  !    it  was  gone. 
But  where  had  it  gone  ?   My  excitement  knew  no 
bound.     Within   three   minutes   of   the   greatest 
ordeal  of  my  life,  and  the  sermon  on  which  so 
much    depended    mysteriously    vanished!     How 
much  disquietude  and  catastrophe  were  crowded 
into  those  three  minutes  it  would  be  impossible 
to  depict.     Then  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  that 
between  the  upper  and  lower  parts  of  the  sofa 
there  was  an  opening  about  the  width  of  three 
finger-breadths,  and  I  immediately  suspected  that 
through  that  opening  the  manuscript  of  my  sermon 
had  disappeared.     But  how  could  I  recover  it, 
and  in  so  short  a  time  ?   I  bent  over  and  reached 
under  as  far  as  I  could.     But  the  sofa  was  low, 
and  I  could  not  touch  the  lost  discourse.     The 
congregation  were  singing  the  last  verse  of  the 
hymn,  and  I  was  reduced  to  a  desperate  effort. 
I  got  down  on  my  hands  and  knees,  and  then 
down  flat,  and  crawled  under  the  sofa  and  clutched 
the    prize.     Fortunately,    the    pulpit    front    was 
wide,  and  hid  the  sprawling  attitude  I  was  com- 
pelled to  take.     When  I  arose  to  preach  a  moment 
after,  the  fugitive  manuscript  before  me  on  the 
Bible,  it  is  easy  to  understand  why  I  felt  more  like 
the  Midianites  than  I  did  like  Gideon. 

This    and    other    mishaps    with    manuscripts 
helped   me   after  a    while   to   strike    for    entire 


MY   ORDINATION  21 

emancipation  from  such  bondage,  and  for  about  a 
quarter  of  a  century  I  have  preached  without 
notes — only  a  sketch  of  the  sermon  pinned  in  my 
Bible,  and  that  sketch  seldom  referred  to. 

When  I  entered  the  ministry  I  looked  very 
pale  for  years,  for  four  or  five  years,  many  times 
I  was  asked  if  I  had  consumption  ;  and,  passing 
through  the  room,  I  would  sometimes  hear  people 
sigh  and  say,  "A-ah  !  not  long  for  this  world  !  " 
I  resolved  in  those  times  that  I  never,  in  any 
conversation,  would  say  anything  depressing,  and 
by  the  help  of  God  I  have  kept  the  resolution. 

The  day  for  my  final  examination  for  a  licence 
to  preach  the  Gospel  for  ordination  by  the  laying 
on  of  hands,  and  for  installation  as  pastor  for  the 
Reformed  Church  of  Belleville,  N.J.,  had  arrived. 
The  examination  as  to  my  qualifications  was  to 
take  place  in  the  morning,  and  if  the  way  proved 
clear,  the  ordination  and  installation  were  to  be 
solemnised  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day. 
The  embarrassing  thought  was  that  members  of 
the  congregation  were  to  be  present  in  the  morn- 
ing, as  well  as  the  afternoon.  If  I  made  a  mistake 
or  failure  under  the  severe  scrutiny  of  the  Eccle- 
siastical Court,  I  would  ever  after  be  at  a  great 
disadvantage  in  preaching  to  those  good  people. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  the  Classis,  as 
the  body  of  clergy  were  called,  was  made  up 
mostly  of  genial,  consecrated  persons,  and  no 
honest  young  man  would  suffer  anything  at  their 
hands.  Although  I  was  exceedingly  nervous,  and 
did  not  do  myself  justice,  and  no  doubt  appeared 
to  know  less  than  I  really  did  know,  all  went 
well  until  a  clergyman,  to  whom  I  shall  give  the 
fictitious  name  of  "  Dr.  Hardman,"  took  me  in 
hand.  This  "Dr.  Hardman"  had  a  dislike  for  me. 
He  had  once  wanted  me  to  do  something  for  him 
and  take   his   advice  in   matters   of  a  pastoral 


22  THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

settlement,  which  I  had,  for  good  reasons, 
declined  to  take.  I  will  not  go  further  into  the 
reasons  of  this  man's  antipathy,  lest  someone 
should  know  whom  I  mean.  One  thing  was 
certain  to  all  present,  and  that  was  his  wish  to 
defeat  my  installation  as  pastor  of  that  church, 
or  make  it  to  me  a  disagreeable  experience. 

As  soon  as  he  opened  upon  me  a  fire  of  inter- 
rogations, what  little  spirit  I  had  in  me  dropped. 
In  the  agitation  I  could  not  answer  the  simplest 
questions.  But  he  assailed  me  with  puzzlers. 
He  wanted  to  know,  among  other  things,  if 
Christ's  atonement  availed  for  other  worlds  ;  to 
which  I  replied  that  I  did  not  know,  as  I  had 
never  studied  theology  in  any  world  but  this.  He 
hooked  me  with  the  horns  of  a  dilemma.  A 
Turkish  bath,  with  the  thermometer  up  to  113, 
is  cool  compared  to  the  perspiration  into  which  he 
threw  me.  At  this  point  Rev.  James  W.  Scott, 
D.D.  (that  was  his  real  name,  and  not  fictitious) 
arose.  Dr.  Scott  was  a  Scotchman  of  about  65 
years  of  age.  He  had  been  a  classmate  of  the 
remarkable  Scottish  poet,  Robert  Pollock.  The 
Doctor  was  pastor  of  a  church  at  Newark,  N.J. 
He  was  the  impersonation  of  kindness,  and  gen- 
erosity, and  helpfulness.  The  Gospel  shone  from 
every  feature.  I  never  saw  him  under  any  cir- 
cumstances without  a  smile  on  his  face.  He  had 
been  on  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  and  the 
glory  had  never  left  his  countenance. 

I  calculate  the  value  of  the  soul  by  its  capacity 
for  happiness.  How  much  joy  it  can  get  in  this 
world — out  of  friendships,  out  of  books,  out  of 
clouds,  out  of  the  sea,  out  of  flowers,  out  of  ten 
thousand  things!  Yet  all  the  joy  it  has  here 
does  not  test  its  capacity. 

As  Dr.  Scott  rose  that  day  he  said,  "  Mr. 
President,  I  think  this  examination  has  gone  on 


A   CLERICAL   COMPARISON  23 

long  enough,  and  I  move  it  be  stopped,  and  that 
the  examination  be  pronounced  satisfactory,  and 
that  this  young  man  be  licensed  to  preach  the 
Gospel,  and  that  this  afternoon  we  proceed  to  his 
ordination  and  installation."  The  motion  was 
put  and  carried,  and  I  was  released  from  a  N' 
Protestant  purgatory. 

But  the  work  was  not  yet  done.  By  rule  of 
that  excellent  denomination,  of  which  I  was  then 
a  member,  the  call  of  a  church  must  be  read  and 
approved  before  it  can  be  lawfully  accepted.  The 
call  from  that  dear  old  church  at  Belleville  was 
read,  and  in  it  I  was  provided  with  a  month's 
summer  vacation.  Dr.  Hardman  rose,  and  said 
that  he  thought  that  a  month  was  too  long  a 
vacation,  and  he  proposed  two  weeks.  Then 
Dr.  Scott  arose  and  said,  if  any  change  were 
made  he  would  have  the  vacation  six  weeks ;  ' '  For, ' ' 
said  he,  "  that  young  man  does  not  look  very 
strong  physically,  and  I  believe  he  should  have 
a  good  long  rest  every  summer."  But  the  call 
was  left  as  it  originally  read,  promising  me  a 
month  of  recuperation  each  year. 

At  the  close  of  that  meeting  of  Classis,  Dr.  Scott 
came  up  to  me,  took  my  right  hand  in  both  his 
hands,  and  said,  "  I  congratulate  you  on  the  oppor- 
tunity that  opens  here.  Do  your  best,  and  God 
will  see  you  through  ;  and  if  some  Saturday  night 
you  find  yourself  short  of  a  sermon,  send  down 
to  Newark,  only  three  miles,  and  I  will  come  up 
and  preach  for  you."  Can  anyone  imagine  the 
difference  of  my  appreciation  of  Dr.  Hardman  and 
Dr.  Scott  ? 

Only  a  few  weeks  passed  on,  and  the  crisis  that 
Dr.  Scott  foresaw  in  my  history  occurred,  and 
Saturday  night  saw  me  short  of  a  sermon.  So  I 
sent  a  messenger  to  Dr.  Scott.  He  said  to  the 
messenger,  "  I  am  very  tired  ;   have  been  holding 


24  THE  SECOND  MILESTONE 

a  long  series  of  special  services  in  my  church,  but 
that  young  Talmage  must  be  helped,  and  I  will 
preach  for  him  to-morrow  night."  He  arrived  in 
time,  and  preached  a  glowing  and  rousing  sermon 
on  the  text,  "  Have  ye  received  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  " 
As  I  sat  behind  him  in  the  pulpit  and  looked  upon 
him  I  thought,  "  What  a  magnificent  soul  you 
are !  Tired  out  with  your  own  work,  and  yet  come 
up  here  to  help  a  young  man  to  whom  you  are 
under  no  obligation  !  "  Well,  that  was  the  last 
sermon  he  ever  preached.  The  very  next  Satur- 
day he  dropped  dead  in  his  house.  Outside  of  his 
own  family  no  one  was  more  broken-hearted  at 
his  obsequies  than  myself,  to  whom  he  had,  until 
the  meeting  of  Classis,  been  a  total  stranger. 

I  stood  at  his  funeral  in  the  crowd  beside  a  poor 
woman  with  a  faded  shawl  and  worn-out  hat,  who 
was  struggling  up  to  get  one  look  at  the  dear  old 
face  in  the  coffin.  She  was  being  crowded  back. 
I  said,  "  Follow  me,  and  you  shall  see  him."  So 
I  pushed  the  way  up  for  her  as  well  as  myself,  and 
when  we  got  up  to  the  silent  form  she  burst  out 
crying,  and  said,  "  That  is  the  last  friend  I  had 
in  the  world." 

Dr.  Hardman  lived  on.  He  lived  to  write  a 
letter  when  I  was  called  to  Syracuse,  N.Y.,  a 
letter  telling  a  prominent  officer  of  the  Syracuse 
Church  that  I  would  never  do  at  all  for  their 
pastor.  He  lived  on  until  I  was  called  to  Phila- 
delphia, and  wrote  a  letter  to  a  prominent  officer 
in  the  Philadelphia  Church  telling  them  not  to 
call  me.  Years  ago  he  went  to  his  rest.  But  the 
two  men  will  always  stand  in  my  memory  as 
opposites  in  character.  The  one  taught  me  a 
lesson  never  to  be  forgotten  about  how  to  treat  a 
young  man,  and  the  other  a  lesson  about  how  not 
to  treat  a  young  man.  Dr.  Scott  and  Dr.  Hard- 
man,  the  antipodes  ! 


MY   FIRST   PASTORATE  25 

So  my  first  settlement  as  pastor  was  in  the 
village  of  Belleville,  N.J.  My  salary  was  eight 
hundred  dollars  and  a  parsonage.  The  amount 
seemed  enormous  to  me.  I  said  to  myself : 
"  What !  all  this  for  one  year?"  I  was  afraid  of 
getting  worldly  under  so  much  prosperity  !  I 
resolved  to  invite  all  the  congregation  to  my 
house  in  groups  of  twenty-five  each.  We*  began, 
and  as  they  were  the  best  congregation  in  all  the 
world,  and  we  felt  nothing  was  too  good  for 
them,  we  piled  all  the  luxuries  on  the  table.  I 
never  completed  the  undertaking.  At  the  end  of 
six  months  I  was  in  financial  despair.  I  found 
that  we  not  only  had  not  the  surplus  of  luxuries, 
but  we  had  a  struggle  to  get  the  necessaries. 

Although  the  first  call  I  ever  had  was  to 
Piermont,  N.Y.,  my  first  real  work  began  in  the 
Reformed  Church  of  Belleville,  N.J.  I  preached 
at  Piermont  in  the  morning,  and  at  the  Congre- 
gational meeting  held  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day  it  was  resolved  to  invite  me  to  become  pastor. 
But  for  the  very  high  hill  on  which  the  parsonage 
was  situated  I  should  probably  have  accepted. 
I  was  delighted  with  the  congregation,  and  with 
the  grand  scenery  of  that  region. 

I  was  ordained  to  the  Gospel  Ministry  and 
installed  as  pastor  July  29th,  1856,  my  brother 
Goyn  preaching  the  sermon  from  the  text,  First 
Corinthians  iii.  12,  13.  Reverend  Dr.  Benjamin 
C.  Taylor,  the  oldest  minister  present,  offered  the 
ordaining  prayer,  and  about  twenty  hands  were 
laid  upon  my  head.  All  these  facts  are  obtained 
from  a  memorandum  made  by  a  hand  that  long 


#  While  at  Belleville  Dr.  Talmage  married  Miss  Mary  Avery,  of  Brooklyn, 
N.Y.,  by  whom  he  had  two  children — a  son,  Thomas  De  Witt,  and  a  daugh- 
ter, Jessie.  Mrs.  Talmage  was  accidentally  drowned  in  the  Schuylkill 
River  while  Dr.  Talmage  was  pastor  of  the  Second  Reformed  Church  of 
Philadelphia. 


26  THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

since  forgot  its  cunning  and  kindness.  The  three 
years  passed  in  Belleville  were  years  of  hard  work. 
The  hardest  work  in  a  clergyman's  lifetime  is 
during  the  first  three  years.  No  other  occupation 
or  profession  puts  such  strain  upon  one's  nerves 
and  brain.  Two  sermons  and  a  lecture  per  week 
are  an  appalling  demand  to  make  upon  a  young 
man.  Most  of  the  ministers  never  get  over  that 
first  three  years.  They  leave  upon  one's  diges- 
tion or  nervous  system  a  mark  that  nothing  but 
death  can  remove.  It  is  not  only  the  amount  of 
mental  product  required  of  a  young  minister,  but 
the  draft  upon  his  sympathies  and  the  novelty  of 
all  that  he  undertakes  ;  his  first  sermon ;  his 
first  baptism ;  his  first  communion  season ; 
his  first  pastoral  visitation  ;  his  first  wedding  ; 
his  first  funeral. 

My  first  baptism  was  of  Lily  Webster,  a  black- 
eyed  baby,  who  grew  up  to  be  as  beautiful  a 
woman  as  she  was  a  child. 

I  baptised  her.  Rev.  Dr.  John  Dowling,  of  the 
Baptist  Church,  New  York,  preached  for  me  and 
my  church  his  great  sermon  on,  "  I  saw  a  great 
multitude  which  no  man  could  number,  of  all 
nations,  and  kindreds,  and  people,  and  tongues, 
clothed  in  white  robes."  In  my  verdancy  I 
feared  that  the  Doctor,  who  did  not  believe  in  the 
baptism  of  infants,  might  take  it  for  a  personal 
affront  that  I  had  chosen  that  evening  for  this 
my  first  baptism. 

Sometimes  at  the  baptism  of  children,  while  I 
have  held  up  one  hand  in  prayer,  I  have  held  up  the 
other  in  amazement  that  the  parents  should  have 
weighted  the  babe  with  such  a  dissonant  and 
repulsive  nomenclature.  I  have  not  so  much 
wondered  that  some  children  should  cry  out  at 
the  Christening  font,  as  that  others  with  such 
smiling  faces  should  take  a  title  that  will  be  the 


DR.  TALMAGE  IN  HIS  FIRST  CHURCH,  BELLEVILLE,  NEW  JERSEY. 


MY   FIRST   BAPTISM  27 

burden  of  their  lifetime.  It  is  no  excuse  because 
they  are  Scriptural  names  to  call  a  child  Jehoiakim, 
or  Tiglath  Pileser.  I  baptised  one  by  the  name 
of  Bathsheba.  Why,  under  all  the  circum- 
ambient heaven,  any  parent  should  want  to  give 
a  child  the  name  of  that  loose  creature  of  Scripture 
times,  I  cannot  imagine.  I  have  often  felt  at  the 
baptismal  altar  when  names  were  announced 
somewhat  like  saying,  as  did  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Richards,  of  Morristown,  New  Jersey,  when  a 
child  was  handed  to  him  for  baptism,  and  the 
names  given,  "  Hadn't  you  better  call  it  something 
else  ?  " 

On  this  occasion  I  had  adopted  the  theory, 
which  I  long  since  abandoned,  that  an  officia- 
ting clergyman  at  baptism  should  take  the  child 
in  his  arms.  Now,  there  are  many  ministers  who 
do  not  know  how  to  hold  a  baby,  and  they 
frighten  the  child  and  increase  the  anxiety  of  the 
mother,  and  may  create  a  riot  all  along  the  line  if 
there  be  other  infants  waiting  for  the  ceremony. 

After  reading  the  somewhat  prolonged  liturgy 
of  the  dear  old  Reformed  Church,  I  came  down 
from  the  pulpit  and  took  the  child  in  my  arms. 
She  was,  however,  far  more  composed  than  myself, 
and  made  no  resistance;  but  the  overpowering 
sensation  attached  to  the  first  application  of  the 
holy  chrism  is  a  vivid  and  everlasting  memory. 

Then,  the  first  pastoral  visitation !  With  me  it 
was  at  the  house  of  a  man  suffering  from  dropsy 
in  the  leg.  He  unbandaged  the  limb  and  insisted 
upon  my  looking  at  the  fearful  malady.  I  never 
could  with  any  composure  look  at  pain,  and  the 
last  profession  in  all  the  world  suited  to  me  would 
have  been  surgery.  After  praying  with  the  man 
and  offering  him  Scriptural  condolence,  I  started 
for  home. 

My  wife  met  me  with  anxious  countenance,  and 


28  THE  SECOND   MILESTONE 

said,  "  How  did  you  get  hurt,  and  what  is  the 
matter  ?  "  The  sight  of  the  lame  leg  had  made  my 
leg  lame,  and  unconsciously  I  was  limping  on  the 
way  home. 

But  I  had  quite  another  experience  with  a 
parishioner.  He  was  a  queer  man,  and  in  bad 
odour  in  the  community.  Some  time  previously 
his  wife  had  died,  and  although  a  man  of  plenty 
of  means,  in  order  to  economise  on  funeral  ex- 
penses, he  had  wheeled  his  wife  to  the  grave  on 
a  wheelbarrow.  This  economy  of  his  had  not 
led  the  village  to  any  higher  appreciation  of  the 
man's  character.  Having  been  told  of  his  inex- 
pensive eccentricities,  I  was  ready  for  him  when 
one  morning  he  called  at  the  parsonage.  As  he 
entered  he  began  by  saying  :  "I  came  in  to  say 
that  I  don't  like  you."  "  Well,"  I  said,  "  that 
is  a  strange  coincidence,  for  I  cannot  bear  the 
sight  of  you.  I  hear  that  you  are  the  meanest 
man  in  town,  and  that  your  neighbours  despise 
you.  I  hear  that  you  wheeled  your  wife  on  a 
wheelbarrow  to  the  graveyard."  To  say  the 
least,  our  conversation  that  day  was  unique  and 
spirited,  and  it  led  to  his  becoming  a  most  ardent 
friend  and  admirer.  I  have  had  multitudes  of 
friends,  but  I  have  found  in  my  own  experience 
that  God  so  arranged  it  that  the  greatest  oppor- 
tunities of  usefulness  that  have  been  opened 
before  me  were  opened  by  enemies.  And  when, 
years  ago,  they  conspired  against  me,  their 
assault  opened  all  Christendom  to  me  as  a  field 
in  which  to  preach  the  Gospel.  So  you  may 
harness  your  antagonists  to  your  best  interests 
and  compel  them  to  draw  you  on  to  better  work. 
He  allowed  me  to  officiate  at  his  second  marriage, 
did  this  mine  enemy.  All  the  town  was  awake 
that  night.  They  had  somehow  heard  that  this 
economist    at    obsequies    was    to    be    remarried. 


A  MARRIAGE   AND   A  FUNERAL     29 

Well,  I  was  inside  his  house  trying,  under  adverse 
circumstances,  to  make  the  twain  one  flesh.  There 
were  outside  demonstrations  most  extraordinary, 
and  all  in  consideration  of  what  the  bridegroom 
had  been  to  that  community.  Horns,  trumpets, 
accordions,  fiddles,  fire-crackers,  tin  pans,  howls, 
screeches,  huzzas,  halloos,  missiles  striking  the 
front  door,  and  bedlam  let  loose !  Matters  grew 
worse  as  the  night  advanced,  until  the  town 
authorities  read  the  Riot  Act,  and  caused  the 
only  cannon  belonging  to  the  village  to  be  hauled 
out  on  the  street  and  loaded,  threatening  death  to 
the  mob  if  they  did  not  disperse.  Glad  am  I  to 
say  that  it  was  only  a  farce,  and  no  tragedy.  My 
mode  of  first  meeting  this  queer  man  was  a  case 
in  which  it  is  best  to  fight  fire  with  fire.  I 
remember  also  the  first  funeral.  It  nearly  killed 
me.  A  splendid  young  man  skating  on  the  Passaic 
River  in  front  of  my  house  had  broken  through 
the  ice,  and  his  body  after  many  hours  had  been 
grappled  from  the  water  and  taken  home  to  his 
distracted  parents.  To  be  the  chief  consoler  in 
such  a  calamity  was  something  for  which  I  felt 
completely  incompetent.  When  in  the  old  but 
beautiful  church  the  silent  form  of  the  young 
man  whom  we  all  loved  rested  beneath  the  pulpit, 
it  was  a  pull  upon  my  emotions  I  shall  never  for- 
get. On  the  way  to  the  grave,  in  the  same  carriage 
with  the  eminent  Reverend  Dr.  Fish,  who  helped 
in  the  services,  I  said,  "This  is  awful.  One  more 
funeral  like  this  will  be  the  end  of  us."  He 
replied,  "  You  will  learn  after  awhile  to  be 
calm  under  such  circumstances.  You  cannot 
console  others  unless  you  preserve  your  own 
equipoise." 

Those  years  at  Belleville  were  to  me  memorable. 
No  vacation,  but  three  times  a  day  I  took  a  row 
on  the  river.     Those  old  families  in  my  congre- 


80  THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

gation  I  can  never  forget — the  Van  Rensselaers, 
the  Stevenses,  the  Wards.  These  families  took  us 
under  their  wing.  At  Mr.  Van  Rensselaer's  we 
dined  every  Monday.  It  had  been  the  habit  of 
my  predecessors  in  the  pulpit.  Grand  old  family ! 
Their  name  not  more  a  synonym  for  wealth  than 
for  piety.  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  was  one  of  the 
saints  clear  up  in  the  heaven  of  one's  appreciation. 

Wm.  Stevens  was  an  embodiment  of  generosity. 
He  could  not  pray  in  public,  or  make  a  speech  ; 
but  he  could  give  money,  and  when  he  had  plenty 
of  it  he  gave  in  large  sums,  and  when  monetary 
disaster  came,  his  grief  was  that  he  had  nothing  to 
give.  I  saw  him  go  right  through  all  the  per- 
turbations of  business  life.  He  was  faithful  to 
God.  I  saw  him  one  day  worth  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars.  I  saw  him  the  next  day 
and  he  was  not  worth  a  farthing.  Stevens  ! 
How  plainly  he  comes  before  me  as  I  think  of  the 
night  in  1857  after  the  New  York  banks  had  gone 
down,  and  he  had  lost  everything  except  his  faith 
in  God,  and  he  was  at  the  prayer  meeting  to  lead 
the  singing  as  usual  !  And,  not  noticing  that  from 
the  fatigues  of  that  awful  financial  panic  he  had 
fallen  asleep,  I  arose  and  gave  out  the  hymn, 
"  My  drowsy  powers,  why  sleep  ye  so  ?  ':  His 
wife  wakened  him,  and  he  started  the  hymn  at 
too  high  a  pitch,  and  stopped,  saying,  "  That  is 
too  high  "  ;  then  started  it  at  too  low  a  pitch, 
and  stopped,  saying,  "  That  is  too  low."  It  is 
the  only  mistake  I  ever  heard  him  make.  But 
the  only  wonder  is  that  amid  the  circumstances  of 
broken  fortunes  he  could  sing  at  all. 

Dr.  Samuel  Ward  !  He  was  the  angel  of  health 
for  the  neighbourhood.  Before  anyone  else  was 
up  any  morning,  passing  along  his  house  you 
would  see  him  in  his  office  reading.  He  presided 
at  the  first  nativity  in  my  household.     He  it  was 


FIRST   PARISHIONERS  31 

that  met  me  at  the  railroad  station  when  I  went 
to  preach  my  first  sermon  as  candidate,  at  Belle- 
ville. He  medicated  for  many  years  nearly  all 
the  wounds  for  body  and  mind  in  that  region.  An 
elder  in  the  Church,  he  could  administer  to  the  soul 
as  well  as  to  the  perishable  nature  of  his  patients. 

And  the  Duncans  !  Broad  Scotch  as  they  were 
in  speech  !  I  was  so  much  with  them  that  I  got 
unconsciously  some  of  the  Scottish  brogue  in  my 
own  utterance.  William,  cautious  and  prudent ; 
John,  bold  and  venturesome — both  so  high  in  my 
affections !  Among  the  first  ones  that  I  ask  for  in 
Heaven  will  be  John  and  William  Duncan. 

Gasherie  De  Witt  !  He  embodied  a  large  part 
of  the  enterprise  and  enthusiasm  of  the  place. 
He  had  his  head  full  of  railroads  long  before  the 
first  spike  was  driven  for  an  iron  pathway  to  the 
village.  We  were  much  together  and  ardently 
attached  ;  went  fishing  together  on  long  summer 
days,  he  catching  the  fish,  and  I  watching  the 
process.  When  we  dedicated  the  first  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle,  he  was  present,  and  gave  the  money 
for  building  a  baptistry  in  the  pulpit,  and  gave 
besides  $100  for  his  wife  and  each  one  of  his 
children.  When  we  parted  from  each  other  at 
Oxford,  England,  he  to  go  to  Geneva,  Switzer- 
land, to  die,  and  I  to  come  back  to  America,  much 
of  sweet  acquaintanceship  and  complete  confi- 
dence ended  for  this  world,  only  to  be  taken  up 
under  celestial  auspices. 

But  time  and  space  would  fail  to  tell  of  the 
noble  men  and  women  that  stood  around  me  in 
those  early  years  of  my  ministry.  They  are  all 
gone,  and  their  personality  makes  up  a  large  part 
of  my  anticipation  of  the  world  to  come. 


THE  THIRD  MILESTONE 

1856—1862 

My  first  sermons  were  to  me  the  most  tre- 
mendous endeavours  of  my  life,  because  I  felt  the 
awful  responsibility  of  standing  in  a  pulpit, 
knowing  that  a  great  many  people  would  be 
influenced  by  what  I  said  concerning  God,  or  the 
soul,  or  the  great  future. 

When  I  first  began  to  preach,  I  was  very 
cautious  lest  I  should  be  misrepresented,  and 
guarded  the  subject  on  all  sides.  I  got  beyond 
that  point.  I  found  that  I  got  on  better  when, 
without  regard  to  consequences,  I  threw  myself 
upon  the  hearts  and  consciences  of  my  hearers. 

In  those  early  days  of  my  pastoral  experience 
I  saw  how  men  reason  themselves  into  sceptic- 
ism. I  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  hundred 
nights  poured  into  one  hour. 

I  remember  one  infidel  book  in  the  possession 
of  my  student  companion.  He  said,  "  DeWitt, 
would  you  like  to  read  that  book  ?  "  "  Well," 
said  I,  "  I  would  like  to  look  at  it."  I  read  it  a 
little  while.  I  said  to  him,  "  I  dare  not  read  that 
book  ;  you  had  better  destroy  it.  I  give  you 
my  advice,  you  had  better  destroy  it.  I  dare 
not  read  that  book.  I  have  read  enough  of 
it."     "  Oh,"  he  said,   "  haven't   you   a   stronger 


A   GREAT   METHODIST   ORATOR      33 

mind  than  that  ?  Can't  you  read  a  book  you 
don't  exactly  believe,  and  not  be  affected  by  it  ?  " 
I  said,  "  You  had  better  destroy  it."  He  kept 
it.  He  read  it  until  he  gave  up  the  Bible  ;  his 
belief  in  the  existence  of  a  God,  his  good  morals  ; 
until  body,  mind  and  soul  were  ruined — and  he 
went  into  the  insane  asylum.  I  read  too  much  of 
it.  I  read  about  fifteen  or  twenty  pages  of  it. 
I  wish  I  had  never  read  it.  It  never  did  me  any 
good  ;  it  did  me  harm.  I  have  often  struggled 
with  what  I  read  in  that  book.  I  rejected  it,  I 
denounced  it,  I  cast  it  out  with  infinite  scorn,  I 
hated  it;  yet  sometimes  its  caricature  of  good 
and  its  eulogium  of  evil  have  troubled  me. 

With  supreme  gratitude,  therefore,  I  remember 
the  wonderful  impression  made  upon  me,  when  I 
was  a  young  man,  of  the  presence  of  a  consecrated 
human  being  in  the  pulpit. 

It  was  a  Sabbath  evening  in  spring  at  "  The 
Trinity  Methodist  Church,"  Jersey  City.  Rev. 
William  P.  Corbit,  the  pastor  of  that  church,  in 
compliment  to  my  relatives,  who  attended  upon 
his  services,  invited  me  to  preach  for  him.  I  had 
only  a  few  months  before  entered  the  Gospel 
ministry,  and  had  come  in  from  my  village 
settlement  to  occupy  a  place  in  the  pulpit  of  the 
great  Methodist  orator.  In  much  trepidation 
on  my  part  I  entered  the  church  with  Mr.  Corbit, 
and  sat  trembling  in  the  corner  of  the  "  sacred 
desk,"  waiting  for  the  moment  to  begin  the 
service.  A  crowded  audience  had  assembled  to 
hear  the  pastor  of  that  church  preach,  and  the 
disappointment  I  was  about  to  create  added  to 
my  embarrassment. 

The  service  opened,  and  the  time  came  to  offer 
the  prayer  before  sermon.  I  turned  to  Mr. 
Corbit  and  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  lead  in 
prayer."     He  replied,  "  No  !    sharpen  your  own 


34  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

knife  !  "  The  whole  occasion  was  to  me  memo- 
rable for  its  agitations.  But  there  began  an 
acquaintanceship  that  became  more  and  more 
endearing  and  ardent  as  the  years  went  by. 
After  he  ceased,  through  the  coming  on  of  the 
infirmities  of  age,  to  occupy  a  pulpit  of  his  own, 
he  frequented  my  church  on  the  Sabbaths,  and 
our  prayer-meetings  during  the  week.  He  was 
the  most  powerful  exhorter  I  ever  heard.  What- 
ever might  be  the  intensity  of  interest  in  a  revival 
service,  he  would  in  a  ten  minute  address  augment 
it.  I  never  heard  him  deliver  a  sermon  except 
on  two  occasions,  and  those  during  my  boyhood ; 
but  they  made  lasting  impressions  upon  me. 
I  do  not  remember  the  texts  or  the  ideas,  but 
they  demonstrated  the  tremendous  reality  of 
spiritual  and  eternal  things,  and  showed  possi- 
bilities in  religious  address  that  I  had  never 
known  or  imagined. 

He  was  so  unique  in  manners,  in  pulpit  oratory, 
and  in  the  entire  type  of  his  nature,  that  no  one 
will  ever  be  able  to  describe  what  he  was.  Those 
who  saw  and  heard  him  the  last  ten  or  fifteen 
years  of  his  decadence  can  have  no  idea  of  his 
former  power  as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel. 

There  he  is,  as  I  first  saw  him  !  Eye  like  a 
hawk's.  Hair  long  and  straight  as  a  Chippewa 
Indian's.  He  was  not  straight  as  an  arrow,  for 
that  suggests  something  too  fragile  and  short,but 
more  like  a  column — not  only  straight,  but  tall 
and  majestic,  and  capable  of  holding  any  weight, 
and  without  fatigue  or  exertion.  When  he  put 
his  foot  down,  either  literally  of  figuratively,  it 
was  down.  Vacillation,  or  fear,  or  incertitude, 
or  indecision,  were  strangers  to  whom  he  would 
never  be  introduced.  When  he  entered  a  room 
you  were,  to  use  a  New  Testament  phrase, 
"  exceedingly  filled  with  his  company." 


MY   SECOND   PASTORATE  35 

He  was  as  affectionate  as  a  woman  to  those  whom 
he  liked,  and  cold  as  Greenland  to  those  whose 
principles  were  an  affront.  He  was  not  only  a 
mighty  speaker,  but  a  mighty  listener.  I  do  not 
know  how  any  man  could  speak  upon  any  import- 
ant theme,  standing  in  his  presence,  without  being 
set  on  fire  by  his  alert  sympathy. 

But  he  has  vanished  from  mortal  sight.  What 
the  resurrection  will  do  for  him  I  cannot  say.  If 
those  who  have  only  ordinary  stature  and  un- 
impressive physique  in  this  world  are  at  the  last 
to  have  bodies  resplendent  and  of  supernal 
potency,  what  will  the  unusual  corporiety  of 
William  P.  Corbit  become  ?  In  his  case  the  resur- 
rection will  have  unusual  material  to  start  with. 
If  a  sculptor  can  mould  a  handsome  form  out  of 
clay,  what  can  he  not  put  out  of  Parian  marble  ? 
If  the  blast  of  the  trumpet  which  wakes  the  dead 
rouses  life-long  invalidism  and  emaciation  into 
athletic  celestialism,  what  will  be  the  trans- 
figuration when  the  sound  of  final  reanimation 
touches  the  ear  of  those  sleeping  giants  among  the 
trees  and  fountains  of  Greenwood  ? 

Good-bye,  great  and  good  and  splendid  soul! 
Good-bye,  till  we  meet  again!  I  will  look  around 
for  you  as  soon  as  I  come,  if  through  the  pardoning 
grace  of  Christ  I  am  so  happy  as  to  reach  the  place 
of  your  destination.  Meet  me  at  the  gate  of  the 
city  ;  or  under  the  tree  of  life  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  ;  or  just  inside  of  the  door  of  the  House  of 
Many  Mansions  ;  or  in  the  hall  of  the  Temple 
which  has  no  need  of  stellar  or  lunar  or  solar 
illumination,  "For  the  Lamb  is  the  Light 
thereof." 

After  three  years  of  grace  and  happiness  at 
Belleville  I  accepted  a  call  to  a  church  in  Syra- 
cuse. My  pastorate  there,  in  the  very  midst  of 
its  most  uplifting  crisis,   was  interrupted,   as  I 


36  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

believe,  by  Divine  orders.  The  ordeal  of  deciding 
anything  important  in  my  life  has  always  been  a 
desperate  period  of  anxiety.  I  never  have  really 
decided  for  myself.  God  has  told  me  what  to  do. 
The  first  great  crisis  of  this  sort  came  to  me  in 
Syracuse.  While  living  there  I  received  a 
pastoral  call  from  the  Second  Reformed  Church 
of  Philadelphia.     Six  weeks  of  agony  followed. 

I  was  about  30  years  of  age.  The  thick  shock 
of  hair  with  which  I  had  been  supplied,  in  those 
six  weeks  was  thinned  out  to  its  present  scarcity. 
My  church  in  Syracuse  was  made  up  of  as  delight- 
ful people  as  ever  came  together  ;  but  I  felt  that 
the  climate  of  Philadelphia  would  be  better 
adapted  to  my  health,  and  so  I  was  very  anxious 
to  go.  But  a  recent  revival  in  my  Syracuse 
Church,  and  a  movement  at  that  time  on  foot 
for  extensive  repairs  of  our  building,  made  the 
question  of  my  leaving  for  another  pastorate  very 
doubtful.  Six  weeks  of  sleeplessness  followed. 
Every  morning  I  combed  out  handfuls  of  hair  as 
the  result  of  the  nervous  agitation.  Then  I 
decided  to  stay,  and  never  expected  to  leave  those 
kind  parishioners  of  Syracuse. 

A  year  afterward  the  call  from  Philadelphia 
was  repeated,  and  all  the  circumstances  having 
changed,  I  went.  But  I  learned,  during  those  six 
weeks  of  uncertainty  about  going  from  Syracuse 
to  Philadelphia,  a  lesson  I  shall  never  forget,  and 
a  lesson  that  might  be  useful  to  others  in  like 
crisis  :  namely,  that  it  is  one's  duty  to  stay 
where  you  are  until  God  makes  it  evident  that 
you  should  move. 

In  all  my  life  I  never  had  one  streak  of  good 
luck.  But  I  have  had  a  good  God  watching  and 
guiding  me. 

While  I  was  living  in  Syracuse  I  delivered  my 
first  lecture.     It  was  a  literary  lecture.     My  ideas 


MY   FIRST   LECTURE  37 

of  a  literary  lecture  are  very  much  changed  from 
what  they  used  to  be.  I  used  to  think  that  a 
lecture  ought  to  be  something  very  profound. 
I  began  with  three  or  four  lectures  of  that  kind 
in  stock.  My  first  lecture  audience  was  in  a 
patient  community  of  the  town  of  Hudson,  N.Y. 
All  my  addresses  previously  had  been  literary. 
I  had  made  speeches  on  literature  and  patriotism, 
and  sometimes  filled  the  gaps  when  in  lecture 
courses  speakers  announced  failed  to  arrive. 

But  the  first  paid  lecture  was  at  Hudson. 
The  fifty  dollars  which  I  received  for  it  seemed 
immense.  Indeed  it  was  the  extreme  price  paid 
anyone  in  those  days.  It  was  some  years  later 
in  life  that  I  got  into  the  lecturing  field.  It  was 
always,  however,  subordinate  to  my  chief  work 
of  preaching  the  Gospel. 

Syracuse  in  1859  was  the  West.  I  felt  there 
all  the  influences  that  are  now  western.  Now 
there  is  no  West  left.  They  have  chased  it  into 
the  Pacific  Ocean. 

In  1862  I  accepted  a  call  to  the  Second 
Reformed  Church  of  Philadelphia. 

What  remembrances  come  to  me,  looking  back- 
ward to  this  period  of  our  terrific  national 
carnalism !  I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  I 
ever  saw  Abraham  Lincoln.  We  followed  into 
his  room,  at  the  White  House,  a  committee  that 
had  come  to  Washington  to  tell  the  President 
how  to  conduct  the  war.  The  saddest-looking 
man  I  ever  saw  was  Abraham  Lincoln.  He  had 
a  far-away  look  while  he  stood  listening  to  an 
address  being  made  to  him  by  one  of  the  com- 
mittee, as  though  beyond  and  far  and  wide  he 
could  see  the  battlefields  and  hospitals  and 
conflagrations  of  national  bereavement.  One 
of  our  party  asked  for  his  autograph;  he  cheer- 
fully gave  it,  asking,  "  Is  that  all  I  can  do  for 


38  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

you  ?  "  He  was  at  that  time  the  most  abused 
man  in  America. 

I  remember  the  alarm  in  Philadelphia  when 
General  Lee's  army  invaded  Pennsylvania.  Mer- 
chants sent  their  goods  quietly  to  New  York. 
Residents  hid  their  valuables.  A  request  for  arms 
was  made  at  the  arsenals,  and  military  companies 
were  organised.  Preachers  appealed  to  the  men 
in  their  congregations,  organised  companies,  en- 
gaged a  drill  sergeant,  and  carried  on  daily  drills 
in  the  yards  adjoining  their  churches. 

In  the  regiment  I  joined  for  a  short  time  there 
were  many  clergymen.  It  was  the  most  awkward 
squad  of  men  ever  got  together.  We  drilled  a 
week  or  two,  and  then  disbanded.  Whether 
General  Lee  heard  of  the  formation  of  our 
regiment  or  not  I  cannot  say,  but  he  immediately 
retreated  across  the  Potomac. 

There  were  in  Philadelphia  and  its  vicinity  many 
camps  of  prisoners  of  war,  hospitals  for  the  sick 
and  wounded.  Waggon  trains  of  supplies  for 
the  soldiers  were  constantly  passing  through  the 
streets.  I  was  privileged  to  be  of  some  service 
in  the  field  to  the  Christian  Commission.  With 
Dr.  Brainerd  and  Samuel  B.  Falls  I  often  per- 
formed some  duty  at  the  Cooper  shop  ;  while 
with  George  H.  Stuart  and  George  T.  Merigens 
I  invited  other  cities  to  make  appeals  for  money 
to  forward  the  great  work  of  the  Secretary  and 
Christian  Commissions.  In  our  churches  we 
were  constantly  busy  getting  up  entertainments 
and  fairs  to  help  those  rendered  destitute  by  the 
loss  of  fathers  and  brothers  in  the  field. 

Just  before  the  battle  of  Gettysburg  a  long 
procession  of  clergymen,  headed  by  Dr.  Brainerd, 
marched  to  Fairmount  Park  with  spades  over 
their  shoulders  to  throw  up  entrenchments.  The 
victory  of  the  Federal  troops  at  Vicksburg  and 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN  39 

Gettysburg     rendered     those     earthworks     un- 
necessary. 

A  distinguished  gentleman  of  the  Civil  War 
told  me  that  Abraham  Lincoln  proposed  to  avoid 
our  civil  conflict  by  purchasing  the  slaves  of 
the  South  and  setting  them  free.  He  calculated 
what  would  be  a  reasonable  price  for  them,  and 
when  the  number  of  millions  of  dollars  that  would 
be  required  for  such  a  purpose  was  announced 
the  proposition  was  scouted,  and  the  North  would 
not  have  made  the  offer,  and  the  South  would  not 
have  accepted  it,  if  made. 

"  But,"  said  my  military  friend,  "  the  war  went 
on,  and  just  the  number  of  million  dollars  that 
Mr.  Lincoln  calculated  would  have  been  enough 
to  make  a  reasonable  purchase  of  all  the  slaves 
were  spent  in  war,  besides  all  the  precious  lives 
that  were  hurled  away  in  250  battles." 

There  ought  to  be  some  other  way  for  men 
to  settle  their  controversies  without  wholesale 
butchering. 

It  was  due  partly  to  the  national  gloom  that 
overspread  the  people  during  the  Civil  War  that  I 
took  to  the  lecture  platform  actively.  I  entered  fully 
into  the  lecturing  field  when  I  went  to  Philadelphia, 
where  DeWitt  Moore,  officer  in  my  church  and 
a  most  intimate  friend,  asked  me  to  lecture  for  the 
benefit  of  a  Ball  Club  to  which  he  belonged.  That 
lecture  in  a  hall  in  Locust  Street,  Philadelphia, 
opened  the  way  for  more  than  I  could  do  as 
lecturer. 

I  have  always  made  such  engagements  subor- 
dinate to  my  chief  work  of  preaching  the  Gospel. 
Excepting  two  long  journeys  a  year,  causing  each 
an  absence  of  two  Sundays,  I  have  taken  no  lec- 
turing engagements,  except  one  a  week,  generally 
Thursdays.  Lecturing  has  saved  my  life  and 
prolonged  my  work.     It  has  taken  me  from  an 


40  THE  THIRD   MILESTONE 

ever-ringing  door-bell,  and  freshened  me  for 
work,  railroad  travelling  being  to  me  a  recu- 
peration. 

I  have  lectured  in  nearly  all  the  cities  of  the 
United  States,  Canada,  England,  Ireland  and 
Scotland,  and  in  most  of  them  many  times. 
The  prices  paid  me  have  seemed  too  large,  but 
my  arrangements  have  generally  been  made 
through  bureaus,  and  almost  invariably  local 
committees  have  cleared  money.  The  lecture 
platform  seemed  to  me  to  offer  greater  opportu- 
nity for  usefulness.  Things  that  could  not  be 
said  in  the  pulpit,  but  which  ought  to  be  said, 
may  be  said  on  the  lyceum  platform.  And  there 
was  so  much  that  had  to  be  said  then,  to  encour- 
age, to  cheer,  to  brighten,  to  illumine  the  sorrow 
and  bereavement.  From  the  first  I  regarded  my 
lecture  tours  as  an  annex  to  my  church.  The 
lecture  platform  has  been  to  me  a  pastoral  visit- 
ation. It  has  given  me  an  opportunity  of 
meeting  hundreds  of  thousands  of  people  to 
whom,  through  the  press,  I  have  for  many  years 
administered  the  Gospel. 

People  have  often  asked  me  how  much  money  I 
received  for  my  lectures.  The  amounts  have 
been  a  great  surprise  to  me,  often. 

For  many  years  I  have  been  paid  from  $400 
to  §1,000  a  lecture.  The  longer  the  journey  the 
bigger  the  fee  usually.  The  average  remunera- 
tion was  about  §500  a  night.  In  Cleveland 
and  in  Cincinnati  I  received  §750.  In  Chicago, 
§1,000.  Later  I  was  offered  §6,000  for  six 
lectures  in  Chicago,  to  be  delivered  one  a  month, 
during  the  World's  Fair,  but  I  declined  them. 

My  expenses  in  many  directions  have  been 
enormous,  and  without  a  large  income  for  lectures 
I  could  not  have  done  many  things  which  I  felt 
it  important  to  do.     I  have  always  been  under 


THE   PUMP   HANDLE  41 

obligation  to  the  press.  Sometimes  it  has  not 
intended  to  help  me,  but  it  has,  being  hard 
pressed  for  news. 

During  the  Civil  War,  when  news  was  suffi- 
ciently exciting  for  the  most  ambitious  journalist, 
they  used  to  come  to  my  church  for  a  copy  of 
my  Sermons.  News  in  those  days  was  pretty 
accurate,  but  it  sometimes  went  wrong. 

On  a  Sabbath  night,  at  the  close  of  a  preaching 
service  in  Philadelphia,  a  reporter  of  one  of  the 
prominent  newspapers  came  into  my  study 
adjoining  the  pulpit  and  asked  of  me  a  sketch  of 
the  sermon  just  delivered,  as  he  had  been  sent  to 
take  it,  but  had  been  unavoidably  detained. 
His  mind  did  not  seem  to  be  very  clear,  but  I 
dictated  to  him  about  a  column  of  my  sermon. 
He  had  during  the  afternoon  or  evening  been 
attending  a  meeting  of  the  Christian  Com- 
mission for  raising  funds  for  the  hospitals,  and 
ex-Governor  Pollock  had  been  making  a  speech. 
The  reporter  had  that  speech  of  the  ex-Governor 
of  Pennsylvania  in  his  hand,  and  had  the  sketch 
of  my  sermon  in  the  same  bundle  of  reportorial 
notes.  He  opened  the  door  to  depart  and  said, 
"  Good  evening,"  and  I  responded,  "  Good  eve- 
ning." The  way  out  from  my  study  to  the  street 
was  through  a  dark  alley  across  which  a  pump 
handle  projected  to  an  unreasonable  extent. 
"  Look  out  for  that  pump  handle,"  I  said,  "  or 
you  may  get  hurt."  But  the  warning  did  not 
come  soon  enough.  I  heard  the  collision  and 
then  a  hard  fall,  and  a  rustle  of  papers,  and  a 
scramble,  and  then  some  words  of  objurgation  at 
the  sudden  overthrow. 

There  was  no  portable  light  that  I  could  take 
to  his  assistance.  Beside  that,  I  was  as  much 
upset  with  cruel  laughter  as  the  reporter  had 
been   by    the    pump    handle.     In  this    state    of 


42  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

helplessness  I  shut  the  door.  But  the  next  morning 
newspaper  proved  how  utter  had  been  the  dis- 
comfiture and  demoralisation  of  my  journalistic 
friend.  He  put  my  sermon  under  the  name  of 
ex-Governor  Pollock  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Christian  Commission,  and  he  made  my  discourse 
begin  with  the  words,  "  When  I  was  Governor 
of  Pennsylvania." 

Never  since  John  Gutenberg  invented  the  art 
of  printing  was  there  such  a  riot  of  types  or  such 
mixing  up  of  occasions.  Philadelphia  went  into 
a  brown  study  as  to  what  it  all  meant,  and  the 
more  the  people  read  of  ex-Governor  Pollock's 
speech  and  of  my  sermon  of  the  night  before,  the 
more  they  were  stunned  by  the  stroke  of  that 
pump  handle. 

But  it  was  soon  forgotten — everything  is.  The 
memory  of  man  is  poor.  All  the  talk  about  the 
country  never  forgetting  those  who  fought  for  it 
is  an  untruth.  It  does  forget.  Picture  how 
veterans  of  the  war  sometimes  had  to  turn  the 
hand-organs  on  the  streets  of  Philadelphia  to  get 
a  living  for  their  families !  How  ruthlessly  many 
of  them  have  been  turned  out  of  office  that  some 
bloat  of  a  politician  might  take  their  place !  The 
fact  is,  there  is  not  a  man  or  woman  under  thirty 
years  of  age,  who,  born  before  the  war,  has  any 
full  appreciation  of  the  four  years  martyrdom  of 
1861  to  1865,  inclusive.  I  can  scarcely  remember, 
and  yet  I  still  feel  the  pressure  of  domestic 
calamity  that  overshadowed  the  nation  then. 

Since  things  have  been  hardened,  as  was  the 
guardsman  in  the  Crimean  War  who  heartlessly 
wrote  home  to  his  mother  :  "I  do  not  want  to 
see  any  more  crying  letters  come  to  the  Crimea 
from  you.  Those  I  have  received  I  have  put  into 
my  rifle,  after  loading  it,  and  have  fired  them  at 
the    Russians,    because    you    appear   to   have    a 


A   NATIONAL   PEACE   JUBILEE       43 

strong  dislike  of  them.  If  you  had  seen  as  many 
killed  as  I  have  you  would  not  have  as  many 
weak  ideas  as  you  now  have." 

After  the  War  came  a  period  of  great  national 
rejoicing.  I  shall  never  forget,  in  the  summer  of 
1869,  a  great  national  peace  jubilee  was  held  in 
Boston,  and  DeWitt  Moore,  an  elder  of  my  church, 
had  been  honoured  by  the  selection  of  some  of  his 
music  to  be  rendered  on  that  occasion.  I  accom- 
panied him  to  the  jubilee.  Forty  thousand 
people  sat  and  stood  in  the  great  Colosseum 
erected  for  that  purpose.  Thousands  of  wind 
and  stringed  instruments ;  twelve  thousand 
trained  voices !  The  masterpieces  of  all  ages 
rendered,  hour  after  hour,  and  day  after  day — 
Handel's  "  Judas  Maccabaeus,"  Spohr's  "  Last 
Judgment,"  Beethoven's  "  Mount  of  Olives," 
Haydn's  "  Creation,"  Mendelssohn's  "  Elijah," 
Meyerbeer's  "  Coronation  March,"  rolling  on  and 
up  in  surges  that  billowed  against  the  heavens! 
The  mighty  cadences  within  were  accompanied 
on  the  outside  by  the  ringing  of  the  bells  of  the 
city,  and  cannon  on  the  common,  in  exact  time  with 
the  music,  discharged  by  electricity,  thundering 
their  awful  bars  of  a  harmony  that  astounded  all 
nations.  Sometimes  I  bowed  my  head  and  wept. 
Sometimes  I  stood  up  in  the  enchantment,  and 
sometimes  the  effect  was  so  overpowering  I  felt  I 
could  not  endure  it. 

When  all  the  voices  were  in  full  chorus,  and  all 
the  batons  in  full  wave,  and  all  the  orchestra  in 
full  triumph,  and  a  hundred  anvils  under  mighty 
hammers  were  in  full  clang,  and  all  the  towers  of 
the  city  rolled  in  their  majestic  sweetness,  and 
the  whole  building  quaked  with  the  boom  of  thirty 
cannon,  Parepa  Rosa,  with  a  voice  that  will 
never  again  be  equalled  on  earth  until  the  arch- 
angelic   voice    proclaims  that  time    shall   be   no 


44  THE   THIRD  MILESTONE 

longer,  rose  above  all  other  sounds  in  her  render- 
ing of  our  national  air,  the  "  Star  Spangled 
Banner."  It  was  too  much  for  a  mortal,  and 
quite  enough  for  an  immortal,  to  hear:  and 
while  some  fainted,  one  womanly  spirit,  released 
under  its  power,  sped  away  to  be  with  God. 
It  was  a  marvel  of  human  emotion  in  patriotic 
frenzy. 

Immediately  following  the  Civil  War  there  was 
a  great  wave  of  intemperance,  and  bribery  swept 
over  our  land.  The  temptation  to  intemperance 
in  public  places  grew  more  and  more  terrific. 
Of  the  men  who  were  prominent  in  political 
circles  but  few  died  respectably.  The  majority 
among  them  died  of  delirium  tremens.  The 
doctor  usually  fixed  up  the  case  for  the  news- 
papers, and  in  his  report  to  them  it  was  usually 
gout,  or  rheumatism,  or  obstruction  of  the  liver, 
or  exhaustion  from  patriotic  services — but  we  all 
knew  it  was  whiskey.  That  which  smote  the 
villain  in  the  dark  alley  smote  down  the  great 
orator  and  the  great  legislator.  The  one  you 
wrapped  in  a  rough  cloth,  and  pushed  into  a 
rough  coffin,  and  carried  out  in  a  box  waggon,  and 
let  him  down  into  a  pauper's  grave,  without 
a  prayer  or  a  benediction.  Around  the  other 
gathered  the  pomp  of  the  land  ;  and  lordly  men 
walked  with  uncovered  heads  beside  the  hearse 
tossing  with  plumes  on  the  way  to  a  grave  to  be 
adorned  with  a  white  marble  shaft,  all  four  sides 
covered  with  eulogium.  The  one  man  was  killed 
by  logwood  rum  at  two  cents  a  glass,  the  other  by 
a  beverage  three  dollars  a  bottle.  I  write  both 
their  epitaphs.  I  write  the  one  epitaph  with  my 
lead  pencil  on  the  shingle  over  the  pauper's  grave  ; 
I  write  the  other  epitaph  with  a  chisel,  cutting  on 
the  white  marble  of  the  senator  :  "  Slain  by 
strong  drink."      The  time  came  when  dissipation 


INTEMPERANCE  45 

was  no  longer  a  hindrance  to  office  in  this  coun- 
try. Did  we  not  at  one  time  have  a  Secretary 
of  the  United  States  carried  home  dead  drunk  ? 
Did  we  not  have  a  Vice-President  sworn  in  so 
intoxicated  the  whole  land  hid  its  head  in  shame  ? 
Judges  and  jurors  and  attorneys  sometimes 
tried  important  cases  by  day,  and  by  night 
caroused  together  in  iniquity. 

During  the  war  whiskey  had  done  its  share  in 
disgracing  manhood.  What  was  it  that  de- 
feated the  armies  sometimes  in  the  late  war? 
Drunkenness  in  the  saddle  !  What  mean  those 
graves  on  the  heights  of  Fredericksburg?  As 
you  go  to  Richmond  you  see  them.  Drunk- 
enness in  the  saddle.  In  place  of  the  blood- 
shed of  war,  came  the  deformations  of  character, 
libertinism  ! 

Again  and  again  it  was  demonstrated  that 
impurity  walked  under  the  chandeliers  of  the 
mansion,  and  dozed  on  damask  upholstery. 
In  Albany,  in  Harrisburg,  in  Trenton,  in 
Washington,  intemperance  was  rife  in  public 
places. 

The  two  political  parties  remained  silent  on  the 
question.  Hand  in  hand  with  intemperance 
went  the  crime  of  bribery  by  money — by  proffered 
office. 

For  many  years  after  the  war  had  been  almost 
forgotten,  in  many  of  the  legislatures  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  a  bill  through  unless  it  had 
financial  consideration. 

The  question  was  asked  softly,  sometimes  very 
softly,  in  regard  to  a  bill :  "Is  there  any  money 
in  it  ?  "  And  the  lobbies  of  the  Legislatures  and 
the  National  Capitol  were  crowded  with  railroad 
men  and  manufacturers  and  contractors.  The 
iniquity  became  so  great  that  sometimes  re- 
formers and  philanthropists  have  been  laughed 


46  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

out  of  Harrisburg,  and  Albany,  and  Trenton,  and 
Washington,  because  they  came  emptv-handed. 
"  You  vote  for  this  bill,  and  I'll  vote  for  that  bill." 
"  You  favour  that  monopoly  of  a  moneyed  insti- 
tution, and  I'll  favour  the  other  monopoly  of 
another  institution."  And  here  is  a  bill  that  is 
going  to  be  very  hard  to  get  through  the  Legis- 
lature, and  some  friends  met  together  at  a 
midnight  banquet,  and  while  intoxicated  promised 
to  vote  the  same  way.  Here  are  §5,000  for  pru- 
dent distribution  in  this  direction,  and  here  are 
$1,000  for  prudent  distribution  in  that  direction. 
Now,  we  are  within  four  votes  of  having  enough. 
$5,000  to  that  intelligent  member  from  West- 
chester, and  $2,000  to  that  stupid  member  from 
Ulster,  and  now  we  are  within  two  votes  of 
having  it.  Give  $500  to  this  member,  who  will  be 
sick  and  stay  at  home,  and  $300  to  this  member, 
who  will  go  to  see  his  great-aunt  languishing  in 
her  last  sickness.  The  day  has  come  for  the 
passing  of  the  bill.  The  Speaker's  gavel  strikes. 
"  Senators,  are  you  ready  for  the  question  ? 
All  in  favour  of  voting  away  these  thousands  of 
millions  of  dollars  will  say,  '  Ay.'  "  "  Ay  !  Ay  ! 
Ay  !  Ay  !  "  "  The  Ays  have  it."  It  was'  a 
merciful  thing  that  all  this  corruption  went  on 
under  a  republican  form  of  government.  Any 
other  style  of  government  would  have  been 
consumed  by  it  long  ago.  There  were  enough 
national  swindles  enacted  in  this  country  after 
the  war — yes,  thirty  years  afterwards — to  swamp 
three  monarchies. 

The  Democratic  party  rilled  its  cup  of  iniquity 
as  it  went  out  of  power,  before  the  war.  Then 
the  Republican  party  came  along  and  it  filled 
its  cup  of  iniquity  a  little  sooner;  and  there 
they  lie,  the  Democratic  party  and  the  Re- 
publican party,  side  by    side,    great    loathsome 


REMINISCENCES  47 

carcasses  of  iniquity,  each  one   worse  than   the 
other. 

These  are  reminiscences  of  more  than  thirty 
years  ago,  and  yet  it  seems  that  I  have  never 
ceased  to  fight  the  same  sort  of  human  tempta- 
tions and  frailties  to  this  very  day. 


THE  FOURTH  MILESTONE 

1862—1877 

I  spent  seven  of  the  most  delightful  years  of  my 
life  in  Philadelphia.  What  wonderful  Gospel 
men  were  round  me  in  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love 
at  this  time — such  men  as  Rev.  Alfred  Barnes, 
Rev.  Dr.  Boardman,  Rev.  Dr.  Berg,  Rev.  Charles 
Wadsworth,  and  many  others  equally  distin- 
guished. I  should  probably  never  have  left 
Philadelphia  except  that  I  was  afraid  I  would 
get  too  lazy.  Being  naturally  indolent  I  wanted 
to  get  somewhere  where  I  would  be  compelled  to 
work.  I  have  sometimes  felt  that  I  was  naturally 
the  laziest  man  ever  born.  I  am  afraid  of  indo- 
lence— as  afraid  of  indolence  as  any  reformed 
inebriate  is  afraid  of  the  wine  cup.  He  knows 
if  he  shall  take  one  glass  he  will  be  flung  back 
into  inebriety.  I  am  afraid,  if  I  should  take 
one  long  pull  of  nothing  to  do,  I  should  stop 
forever. 

My  church  in  Philadelphia  was  a  large  one,  and 
it'  was  crowded  with  lovely  people.  All  that  a 
congregation  could  do  for  a  pastor's  happiness 
they  were  doing,  and  always  had  done. 

We    ministers    living  in  Philadelphia  at  this 

48 


A   MINISTERIAL   BALL   CLUB         49 

time  may  have  felt  the  need  for  combating  in- 
dolence, for  we  had  a  ministerial  ball  club,  and  twice 
a  week  the  clergymen  of  all  denominations  went 
out  to  the  suburbs  of  the  city  and  played  base- 
ball. We  went  back  to  our  pulpits,  spirits  light- 
ened, theology  improved,  and  able  to  do  better 
service  for  the  cause  of  God  than  we  could  have 
done  without  that  healthful  shaking  up. 

The  reason  so  many  ministers  think  everything 
is  going  to  ruin  is  because  their  circulation  is 
lethargic,  or  their  lungs  are  in  need  of  inflection 
by  outdoor  exercise.  I  have  often  wished  since 
that  this  splendid  idea  among  the  ministers  in 
Philadelphia  could  have  been  emulated  elsewhere. 
Every  big  city  should  have  its  ministerial  ball 
club.  We  want  this  glorious  game  rescued  from 
the  roughs  and  put  into  the  hands  of  those  who 
will  employ  it  in  recuperation. 

My  life  in  Philadelphia  was  so  busy  that  I 
must  have  had  very  little  time  for  keeping  any 
record  or  note-books.  Most  of  my  warmest  and 
life-long  friendships  were  made  in  Philadelphia, 
however,  and  in  the  retrospect  of  the  years  since 
I  left  there  I  have  sometimes  wondered  how  I 
ever  found  courage  to  say  good-bye. 

I  was  amazed  and  gratified  one  day  at  receiving 
a  call  from  four  of  the  most  prominent  churches 
at  that  time  in  America  :  Calvary  Church  of 
Chicago,  the  Union  Church  of  Boston,  the 
First  Presbyterian  Church  of  San  Francisco,  and 
the  Central  Church  of  Brooklyn.  These  invita- 
tions all  came  simultaneously  in  February,  1869. 
The  committees  from  these  various  churches 
called  upon  me  at  my  house  in  Philadelphia.  It 
was  a  period  of  anxious  uncertainty  with  me. 
One  morning,  I  remember,  a  committee  from 
Chicago  was  in  one  room,  a  committee  from 
Brooklyn  in  another  room  of  my  house,  and  a 


50  THE   FOURTH   MILESTONE 

committee  from  my  Philadelphia  church  in 
another  room.  My  wife*  passed  from  room  to 
room  entertaining  them  to  keep  the  three  com- 
mittees from  meeting.  It  would  have  been 
unpleasant  for  them  to  meet. 

At  this  point  my  Syracuse  remembrance  of 
perplexity  returned,  and  I  resolved  to  stay  in 
Philadelphia  unless  God  made  it  very  plain  that 
I  was  to  go  and  where  I  was  to  go.  An  engage- 
ment to  speak  that  night  in  Harrisburg,  Pennsyl- 
vania, took  me  to  the  depot.  I  got  on  the  train, 
my  mind  full  of  the  arguments  of  the  three  com- 
mittees, and  all  a  bewilderment.  I  stretched 
myself  out  upon  the  seats  for  a  sound  sleep, 
saying,  "  Lord,  what  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do  ? 
Make  it  plain  to  me  when  I  wake  up."  When  I 
awoke  I  was  entering  Harrisburg,  and  as  plainly 
as  though  the  voice  had  been  audible  God  said 
to  me,  "  Go  to  Brooklyn."  I  went,  and  never 
have  doubted  that  I  did  right  to  go.  It  is  always 
best  to  stay  where  you  are  until  God  gives  you 
marching  orders,  and  then  move  on. 

I  succeeded  the  Rev.  J.  E.  Rockwell  in  the 
Brooklyn  Church,  who  resigned  only  a  month  or 
so  before  I  accepted  the  call.  Mr.  Charles  Cravat 
Converse,  LL.D.,  an  elder  of  the  Church, 
presented  the  call  to  me,  being  appointed  to  do  so 
by  the  Board  of  Trustees  and  the  Session,  after  I 
had  been  unanimously  elected  by  the  congrega- 
tion at  a  special  meeting  for  that  purpose  held 
on  February  16,  1869.  The  salary  fixed  was 
§7,000,  payable  monthly. 

In  looking  over  an  old  note-book  I  carried  in 
that  year  I  find,  under  date  of  March  22,  1869, 
the  word  "installed"  written  in  my  own  hand- 

*  In  1863,  Dr.  Talmage  married  his  second  wife,  Miss  Susan  C.  Whittemore, 
of  Greenport,  N.Y.  They  had  five  children :  May,  Edith,  Frank,  Maud, 
and  Daisy. 


MY   CALL   TO   BROOKLYN  51 

writing.  It  was  written  in  pencil  after  the  ser- 
vice of  installation  held  in  the  church  that 
Monday  evening.  The  event  is  recorded  in  the 
minutes  of  the  regular  meetings  of  the  church 
as  follows  : 

"  Monday  evening,  March  22,  the  Rev.  T. 
DeWitt  Talmage  having  been  received  as  a 
member  of  the  Presbytery  of  Nassau,  was  this 
evening  installed  pastor  of  this  church.  The  Rev. 
C.  S.  Pomeroy  preached  the  sermon  and  proposed 
the  constitutional  questions.  Rev.  Mr.  Oakley 
delivered  the  charge  to  the  pastor,  and  Rev. 
Henry  Van  Dyke,  D.D.,  delivered  the  charge  to 
the  people;  and  the  services  were  closed  with 
the  benediction  by  the  pastor,  and  a  cordial 
shaking  of  hands  by  the  people  with  their  new 
pastor." 

The  old  church  stood  on  Schemerhorn  Street, 
between  Nevins  and  Power  Streets.  It  was  a 
much  smaller  church  community  than  the  one  I 
had  left  in  Philadelphia,  but  there  was  a  glorious 
opportunity  for  work  in  it.  I  remember  hearing 
a  minister  of  a  small  congregation  complain  to  a 
minister  of  a  large  congregation  about  the  sparse- 
ness  of  attendance  at  his  church.  "  Oh,"  said 
the  one  of  large  audience,  "  my  son,  you  will  find 
in  the  day  of  judgment  that  you  had  quite  enough 
people  for  whom  to  be  held  accountable." 

My  church  in  Brooklyn  prospered.  In  about 
three  months  from  the  date  of  my  installation  it 
was  too  small  to  hold  the  people  who  came  there 
to  worship.  This  came  about,  not  through  any 
special  demonstration  of  my  own  superior  gifts, 
but  by  the  help  of  God  and  the  persecution  of 
others. 

During  my  pastorate  in  Brooklyn  a  certain 
group  of  preachers  began  to  slander  me  and  to 
say   all   manner   of   lies   about   me ;     I   suppose 


52  THE   FOURTH   MILESTONE 

because  they  were  jealous  of  my  success.  These 
calumnies  were  published  in  every  important 
newspaper  in  the  country.  The  result  was  that 
the  New  York  correspondents  of  the  leading 
papers  in  the  chief  cities  of  the  United  States  came 
to  my  church  on  Sundays,  expecting  I  would 
make  counter  attacks,  which  would  be  good  news. 
I  never  said  a  word  in  reply,  with  the  exception  of 
a  single  paragraph. 

The  correspondents  were  after  news,  and,  failing 
to  get  the  sensational  charges,  they  took  down 
the  sermons  and  sent  them  to  the  newspaper. 

Many  times  have  I  been  maligned  and  my 
work  misrepresented  ;  but  all  such  falsehood  and 
persecution  have  turned  out  for  my  advantage 
and  enlarged  my  work. 

Whoever  did  escape  it  ? 

I  was  one  summer  in  the  pulpit  of  John  Wesley, 
in  London — a  pulpit  where  he  stood  one  day  and 
said  :  "I  have  been  charged  with  all  the  crimes 
in  the  calendar  except  one — that  of  drunken- 
ness," and  his  wife  arose  in  the  audience  and 
said  :   "  You  know  you  were  drunk  last  night." 

I  saw  in  a  foreign  journal  a  report  of  one  of 
George  Whitefield's  sermons — a  sermon  preached 
a  hundred  and  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago.  It 
seemed  that  the  reporter  stood  to  take  the  sermon, 
and  his  chief  idea  was  to  caricature  it,  and  these 
are  some  of  the  reportorial  interlinings  of  the 
sermon  of  George  Whitefield.  After  calling  him  by 
a  nickname  indicative  of  a  physical  defect  in  the 
eye,  it  goes  on  to  say  :  "  Here  the  preacher  clasps 
his  chin  on  the  pulpit  cushion.  Here  he  elevates 
his  voice.  Here  he  lowers  his  voice.  Holds  his 
arms  extended.  Bawls  aloud.  Stands  trembling. 
Makes  a  frightful  face.  Turns  up  the  whites  of 
his  eyes.  Clasps  his  hands  behind  him.  Clasps 
his  arms  around  him,  and  hugs  himself.     Roars 


THE   CHURCH   A   HOME   CIRCLE      53 

aloud.  Holloas.  Jumps.  Cries.  Changes  from 
crying.     Holloas  and  jumps  again." 

One  would  have  thought  that  if  any  man  ought 
to  have  been  free  from  persecution  it  was  George 
Whitefield,  bringing  great  masses  of  the  people 
into  the  kingdom  of  God,  wearing  himself  out  for 
Christ's  sake  :  and  yet  the  learned  Dr.  Johnson 
called  him  a  mountebank.  Robert  Hall  preached 
about  the  glories  of  heaven  as  no  uninspired  man 
ever  preached  about  them,  and  it  was  said  when 
he  preached  about  heaven  his  face  shone  like  an 
angel's,  and  yet  good  Christian  John  Foster 
writes  of  Robert  Hall,  saying  :  "  Robert  Hall  is  a 
mere  actor,  and  when  he  talks  about  heaven  the 
smile  on  his  face  is  the  reflection  of  his  own 
vanity."  John  Wesley  stirred  all  England  with 
reform,  and  yet  he  was  caricatured  by  all  the 
small  wits  of  his  day.  He  was  pictorialised,  history 
says,  on  the  board  fences  of  London,  and  every- 
where he  was  the  target  for  the  punsters  ;  yet 
John  Wesley  stands  to-day  before  all  Christendom, 
his  name  mighty.  I  have  preached  a  Gospel  that 
is  not  only  appropriate  to  the  home  circle,  but  is 
appropriate  to  Wall  Street,  to  Broadway,  to 
Fulton  Street,  to  Montague  Street,  to  Atlantic 
Street,  to  every  street — not  only  a  religion  that 
is  good  for  half  past  ten  o'clock  Sunday  morning, 
but  good  for  half  past  ten  o'clock  any  morning. 
This  was  one  of  the  considerations  in  my  work  as 
a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  that  extended  its 
usefulness.  A  practical  religion  is  what  we  all 
need.  In  my  previous  work  at  Belleville,  N.J., 
and  in  Syracuse,  I  had  absorbed  other  con- 
siderations of  necessity  in  the  business  of 
uniting  the  human  character  with  the  church 
character. 

Although  the  Central  Presbyterian  Church  in 
Brooklyn  of  which  I  was  pastor  was  one  of  the 


54  THE  FOURTH  MILESTONE 

largest  buildings  in  that  city  then,    it  did  not 
represent  my  ideal  of  a  church. 

I  learned  in  my  village  pastorates  that  the 
Church  ought  to  be  a  great  home  circle  of  fathers, 
mothers,  brothers,  and  sisters.  That  would  be  a 
very  strange  home  circle  where  the  brothers  and 
sisters  did  not  know  each  other,  and  where  the 
parents  were  characterised  by  frigidity  and  heart- 
lessness.  The  Church  must  be  a  great  family 
group — the  pulpit  the  fireplace,  the  people  all 
gathered  around  it.  I  think  we  sometimes  can 
tell  the  people  to  stay  out  by  our  church  archi- 
tecture. People  come  in  and  find  things  angular 
and  cold  and  stiff,  and  they  go  away  never  again 
to  come  ;  when  the  church  ought  to  be  a  great 
home  circle. 

I  knew  a  minister  of  religion  who  had  his  fourth 
settlement.  His  first  two  churches  became  ex- 
tinct as  a  result  of  his  ministry,  the  third  church 
was  hopelessly  crippled,  and  the  fourth  was  saved 
simply  by  the  fact  that  he  departed  this  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  have  seen  pastorates  which 
continued  year  after  year,  all  the  time  strength- 
ening, and  I  have  heard  of  instances  where  the 
pastoral  relation  continued  twenty  years,  thirty 
years,  forty  years,  and  all  the  time  the  confidence 
and  the  love  were  on  the  increase.  So  it  was  with 
the  pastorate  of  old  Dr.  Spencer,  so  it  was  with 
the  pastorate  of  old  Dr.  Gardiner  Spring,  so  it  was 
with  the  pastorate  of  a  great  many  of  those  old 
ministers  of  Jesus  Christ,  of  whom  the  world  was 
not  worthy. 

I  saw  an  opportunity  to  establish  in  Brooklyn 
just  such  a  church  as  I  had  in  my  mind's  eye — 
a  Tabernacle,  where  all  the  people  who  wanted  to 
hear  the  Gospel  preached  could  come  in  and  be 
comfortable.  I  projected,  designed,  and  success- 
fully established  the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle  within 


THE  FIRST  BROOKLYN  TABERNACLE  55 

a  little  over  a  year  after  preaching  my  first  sermon 
in  Brooklyn.  The  church  seated  3,500  people, 
and  yet  we  were  compelled  to  use  the  old  church 
to  take  care  of  all  our  active  Christian  work 
besides. 

The  first  Brooklyn  Tabernacle  was,  I  believe, 
the  most  buoyant  expression  of  my  work  that  I 
ever  enjoyed.  It  drew  upon  all  my  energies  and 
resources,  and  as  the  sacred  walls  grew  up  towards 
the  skies,  I  prayed  God  that  I  might  have  the 
strength  and  spiritual  energy  to  grow  with  it. 

Prayer  always  meets  the  emergency,  no  matter 
how  difficult  it  may  be. 

That  was  the  substantial  backing  of  the  first 
Brooklyn  Tabernacle — prayer.  Prayer  furnished 
the  means  as  well  as  the  faith  that  was  behind 
them.  I  was  merely  the  promoter,  the  agent,  of  a 
company  organised  in  Heaven  to  perpetuate  the 
Gospel  of  Christ.  It  was  considered  a  great  thing 
to  have  done,  and  many  were  the  reasons  whis- 
pered by  the  worldly  and  the  envious  and  the 
orthodox,  for  its  success.  Some  said  it  was  due 
to  magnetism. 

As  a  cord  or  rope  can  bind  bodies  together, 
there  may  be  an  invisible  cord  binding  souls.  A 
magnetic  man  throws  it  over  others  as  a  hunter 
throws  a  lasso.  Some  men  are  surcharged  with 
this  influence,  and  have  employed  it  for  patriotism 
and  Christianity  and  elevated  purposes. 

It  is  always  a  surprise  to  a  great  majority  of 
people  how  churches  are  built,  how  money  for 
which  the  world  has  so  many  other  uses  can  be 
obtained  to  build  churches.  There  are  names  of 
men  and  women  whom  I  have  only  to  mention 
and  they  suggest  at  once  not  only  great  wealth, 
but  religion,  generosity,  philanthropy,  such  as 
Amos  Laurence,  James  Lennox,  Peter  Cooper, 
William  E.  Dodge,  Miss  Wolfe,  Mrs.  William  Astor. 


56  THE  FOURTH  MILESTONE 

A  good  moral  character  can  be  accompanied  by 
affluent  circumstances. 

In  the  '705s  and  '80's  in  Brooklyn  and  in  New 
York  there  were  merchants  who  had  prospered, 
but  by  Christian  methods — merchants  who  took 
their  religion  into  everyday  life.  I  became 
accustomed,  Sabbath  after  Sabbath,  to  stand 
before  an  audience  of  bargain-makers.  Men  in 
all  occupations — yet  the  vast  majority  of  them,  I 
am  very  well  aware,  were  engaged  from  Monday 
morning  to  Saturday  night  in  the  store.  In  many 
of  the  families  of  my  congregations  across  the 
breakfast  table  and  the  tea  table  were  discussed 
questions  of  loss  and  gain.  "  What  is  the  value  of 
this  ?  What  is  the  value  of  that  ?  "  They  would 
not  think  of  giving  something  of  greater  value  for 
that  which  is  of  lesser  value.  They  would  not 
think  of  selling  that  which  cost  ten  dollars  for 
five  dollars.  If  they  had  a  property  that 
was  worth  $15,000,  they  would  not  sell  it  for 
$4,000.  All  were  intelligent  in  matters  of  bargain- 
making. 

But  these  were  not  the  sort  of  men  who  made 
generous  investments  for  God's  House.  There 
was  one  that  sort,  however,  among  my  earliest 
remembrances,  Arthur  Tappen.  There  were 
many  differences  of  opinion  about  his  politics, 
but  no  one  who  ever  knew  Arthur  Tappen,  and 
knew  him  well,  doubted  his  being  an  earnest 
Christian.  Arthur  Tappen  was  derided  in  his  day 
because  he  established  that  system  by  which  we 
come  to  find  out  the  commercial  standing  of 
business  men.  He  started  that  entire  [system, 
was  derided  for  it  then ;  I  knew  him  well,  in 
moral  character  Al.  Monday  mornings  he  in- 
vited to  a  room  in  the  top  of  his  storehouse  in  New 
York  the  clerks  of  his  establishment.  He  would 
ask  them  about  their  worldly  interests  and  their 


EAST    HAMPTON  57 

spiritual  interests,  then  giving  out  a  hymn  and 
leading  in  prayer  he  would  give  them  a  few  words 
of  good  advice,  asking  them  what  church  they 
attended  on  the  Sabbath,  what  the  text  was, 
whether  they  had  any  especial  troubles  of  their 
own. 

Arthur  Tappen,  I  have  never  heard  his  eulogy 
pronounced.  I  pronounce  it  now.  There  were 
other  merchants  just  as  good — William  E.  Dodge 
in  the  iron  business,  Moses  H.  Grinnell  in  the 
shipping  business,  Peter  Cooper  in  the  glue 
business,  and  scores  of  men  just  as  good  as  they 
were. 

I  began  my  work  of  enlarging  and  improving 
the  Brooklyn  Church  almost  the  week  following 
my  installation.  My  first  vacation,  a  month, 
began  on  June  25,  1869,  the  trustees  of  the 
church  having  signified  and  ordered  repairs, 
alterations  and  improvements  at  a  meeting  held 
that  day,  and  further  suspending  Sabbath  ser- 
vices for  four  weeks.  I  spent  part  of  my  vacation 
at  East  Hampton,  L.I.,  going  from  there  for  two 
or  three  short  lecturing  trips.  I  find  that  I  can 
never  rest  over  two  weeks.  More  than  that 
wearies  me.  Of  all  the  places  I  have  ever  known 
East  Hampton  is  the  best  place  for  quiet  and 
recuperation. 

I  became  acquainted  with  it  through  my  brother- 
in-law,  Rev.  S.  L.  Mershon.  His  first  pastorate 
was  at  the  Presbyterian  Church  in  East  Hampton, 
where,  as  a  young  man,  I  preached  some  of  my 
first  sermons.  East  Hampton  is  always  home  to 
me.  When  a  boy  in  grammar-school  and  college 
I  used  to  visit  my  brother-in-law  and  his  wife,  my 
sister  Mary.  Later  in  life  I  established  a  summer 
home  there  myself.  I  particularly  recall  one 
incident  of  this  month's  vacation  that  has  affected 
my  whole  life.     One  day  while  resting  at  Sharon 


58  THE  FOURTH  MILESTONE 

Springs,  New  York,  walking  in  the  Park  of  that 
place,  I  found  myself  asking  the  question  :  "I 
wonder  if  there  is  any  special  mission  for  me  to 
execute  in  this  world  ?  If  there  is,  may  God 
show  it  to  me  !  " 

There  soon  came  upon  me  a  great  desire  to 
preach  the  Gospel  through  the  secular  printing- 
press.  I  realised  that  the  vast  majority  of  people, 
even  in  Christian  lands,  never  enter  a  church,  and 
that  it  would  be  an  opportunity  of  usefulness  in- 
finite if  that  door  of  publication  were  opened. 
And  so  I  recorded  that  prayer  in  a  blank  book, 
and  offered  the  prayer  day  in  and  day  out  until 
the  answer  came,  though  in  a  way  different  from 
that  which  I  had  expected,  for  it  came  through 
the  misrepresentation  and  persecution  of  enemies ; 
and  I  have  to  record  it  for  the  encouragement  of 
all  ministers  of  the  Gospel  who  are  misrepresented, 
that  if  the  misrepresentation  be  virulent  enough 
and  bitter  enough  and  continuous  enough,  there 
is  nothing  that  so  widens  one's  field  of  usefulness 
as  hostile  attack,  if  you  are  really  doing  the  Lord's 
work.  The  bigger  the  lie  told  about  me  the 
bigger  the  demand  to  see  and  hear  what  I  really 
was  doing.  From  one  stage  of  sermonic  publica- 
tion to  another  the  work  has  gone  on,  until  week 
by  week,  and  for  about  twenty-three  years,  I  have 
had  the  world  for  my  audience  as  no  man  ever 
had.  The  syndicates  inform  me  that  my  sermons 
go  now  to  about  twenty-five  millions  of  people 
in  all  lands.  I  mention  this  not  in  vain  boast, 
but  as  a  testimony  to  the  fact  that  God 
answers  prayer.  Would  God  I  had  better  occu- 
pied the  field  and  been  more  consecrated  to  the 
work  ! 

The  following  summer,  or  rather  early  spring, 
I  requested  an  extension  of  my  vacation  time,  in 
order   to  carry   out   a   plan   to   visit   the   "  Old 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  THE  OLD  WORLD    59 

World."  As  the  trustees  of  the  church  consi- 
dered that  the  trip  might  be  of  value  to  the 
church  as  well  as  to  myself,  I  was  given  "  leave 
of  absence  from  pastoral  duties  "  for  three  months' 
duty  from  June  18,  1870.  All  that  I  could  do 
had  been  done  in  the  plans  in  constructing  the 
new  Tabernacle.  I  could  do  nothing  by  staying 
at  home. 

I  have  crossed  the  Atlantic  so  often  that  the 
recollections  of  this  first  trip  to  Europe  are,  at  this 
writing,  merely  general.  I  think  the  most 
terrific  impression  I  received  was  my  first  sight 
of  the  ocean  the  morning  after  we  sailed,  the 
most  instructive  were  the  ruins  of  church  and 
abbey  and  palaces.  I  walked  up  and  down 
the  stairs  of  Holyrood  Palace,  once  upon  a  time 
considered  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  and 
I  marvelled  that  so  little  was  left  of  such  a  wonder- 
ful place.     Ruins  should  be  rebuilt. 

The  most  spiritual  impression  I  received  was 
from  the  music  of  church  organs  in  the  old  world. 

I  stopped  one  nightfall  at  Freyburg,  Switzer- 
land, to  hear  the  organ  of  world-wide  celebrity 
in  that  place.  I  went  into  the  cathedral  at  night- 
fall. All  the  accessories  were  favourable.  There 
was  only  one  light  in  all  the  cathedral,  and  that 
a  faint  taper  on  the  altar.  I  looked  up  into  the 
venerable  arches  and  saw  the  shadows  of  cen- 
turies ;  and  when  the  organ  awoke  the  cathedral 
awoke,  and  all  the  arches  seemed  to  lift  and 
quiver  as  the  music  came  under  them.  That 
instrument  did  not  seem  to  be  made  out  of  wood 
and  metal,  but  out  of  human  hearts,  so  wonder- 
fully did  it  pulsate  with  every  emotion  ;  now 
laughing  like  a  child,  now  sobbing  like  a  tempest. 
At  one  moment  the  music  would  die  away  until 
you  could  hear  the  cricket  chirp  outside  the  wall, 
and  then  it  would  roll  up  until  it  seemed  as  if 


60  THE   FOURTH  MILESTONE 

the  surge  of  the  sea  and  the  crash  of  an  avalanche 
had  struck  the  organ-pipes  at  the  same  moment. 
At  one  time  that  night  it  seemed  as  if  a  squadron 
of  saddened  spirits  going  up  from  earth  had  met 
a  squadron  of  descending  angels  whose  glory- 
beat  back  the  woe. 

In  Edinburgh  I  met  Dr.  John  Brown,  author 
of  the  celebrated  "  Rab  and  his  Friends."  That 
one  treatise  gave  him  immortality  and  fame, 
and  yet  he  was  taken  at  his  own  request  to  the 
insane  asylum  and  died  insane. 

"  What  are  you  writing  now,  Dr.  Brown  ?  " 
I  said  to  him  in  his  study  in  Edinburgh. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  replied,  "  I  never  could 
write.     I  shall  never  try  again." 

I  saw  on  his  face  and  heard  in  his  voice  that 
melancholy  that  so  often  unhorsed  him. 

I  went  to  Paris  for  the  first  time  in  this  summer 
of  1870.  It  was  during  the  Franco-German  war. 
I  stood  studying  the  exquisite  sculpturing  of  the 
gate  of  the  Tuileries.  Lost  in  admiration  of  the 
wonderful  art  of  that  gate  I  knew  not  that  I  was 
exciting  suspicion.  Lowering  my  eyes  to  the 
crowds  of  people  I  found  myself  being  closely 
inspected  by  government  officials,  who  from  my 
complexion  judged  me  to  be  a  German,  and  that 
for  some  belligerent  purpose  I  might  be  examining 
the  gates  of  the  palace.  My  explanations  in  very 
poor  French  did  not  satisfy  them,  and  they 
followed  me  long  distances  until  I  reached  my 
hotel,  and  were  not  satisfied  until  from  my 
landlord  they  found  that  I  was  only  an  inoffensive 
American.  Inoffensive  Americans  were  quite  as 
welcome  in  Europe  in  1870  as  they  are  now.  I 
was  not  curious  of  the  signs  I  found  anywhere 
about  me  of  aristocratic  grandeur,  of  the  deference 
paid  to  lineage  and  ancient  family  name.  I  know 
in  America  some  people  look  back  on  the  family 


DEDICATING  THE  FIRST  TABERNACLE  61 

line,  and  they  are  proud  to  see  that  they  are 
descended  from  the  Puritans  or  the  Huguenots, 
and  they  rejoice  in  that  as  though  their  ancestors 
had  accomplished  a  great  thing  to  repudiate  a 
Catholic  aristocracy. 

I  look  back  on  my  family  line,  and  I  see  there 
such  a  mingling  and  mixture  of  the  blood  of  all 
nationalities  that  I  feel  akin  to  all  the  world.  I 
returned  from  my  first  visit  to  Europe  more 
thankful  than  ever  for  the  mercy  of  having  been 
born  in  America.  The  trip  did  me  immeasurable 
good.  It  strengthened  my  faith  in  the  breadth  \/ 
and  simplicity  of  a  broadminded  religion.  We 
must  take  care  how  we  extend  our  invitation  to 
the  Church,  that  it  be  understandable  to  every- 
one. People  don't  want  the  scientific  study  of 
religion. 

On  Sunday  morning,  September  25,  1870,  the 
new  Tabernacle  erected  on  Schemerhorn  Street 
was  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  Almighty  God. 
It  was  to  my  mind  a  common-sense  church,  as 
I  had  planned  it  to  be.  In  many  of  our  churches 
we  want  more  light,  more  room,  more  ventilation, 
more  comfort.  Vast  sums  of  money  are  expended 
on  ecclesiastical  structures,  and  men  sit  down 
in  them,  and  you  ask  a  man  how  he  likes  the 
church  :  he  says,  "  I  like  it  very  well,  but  I 
can't  hear."  The  voice  of  the  preacher  dashes 
against  the  pillars.  Men  sit  down  under  the 
shadows  of  the  Gothic  arches  and  shiver,  and 
feel  they  must  be  getting  religion,  or  something 
else,  they  feel  so  uncomfortable. 

We  want  more  common  sense  in  the  rearing 
of  churches.  There  is  no  excuse  for  lack  of  light 
when  the  heavens  are  full  of  it,  no  excuse  for  lack 
of  fresh  air  when  the  world  swims  in  it.  It  ought 
to  be  an  expression,  not  only  of  our  spiritual 
happiness,  but  of  our  physical  comfort,  when  we 


62  THE   FOURTH   MILESTONE 

say  :  "  How  amiable  are  Thy  tabernacles,  O 
Lord  God  of  Hosts  !  A  day  in  Thy  courts  is 
better  than  a  thousand." 

My  dedication  sermon  was  from  Luke  xiv.  23, 
"  And  the  Lord  said  unto  the  servants,  go  out 
into  the  highways  and  hedges,  and  compel  them 
to  come  in  that  my  house  may  be  rilled."  The 
Rev.  T.  G.  Butter,  D.D.,  offered  the  dedicatory 
prayer.  Other  clergymen,  whose  names  I  do  not 
recall,  were  present  and  assisted  at  the  services. 
The  congregation  in  attendance  was  very  large, 
and  at  the  close  of  the  services  a  subscription 
and  collection  were  taken  up  amounting  to 
$13,000,  towards  defraying  the  expenses  and 
cost  of  the  church. 

In  less  than  a  year  later  the  congregation  had 
grown  so  large  and  the  attendance  of  strangers 
so  pressing  that  the  new  church  was  enlarged 
again,  and  on  September  10,  1871,  the  Taber- 
nacle was  rededicated  with  impressive  services. 
The  sermon  was  preached  by  my  friend  the  Rev. 
Stephen  H.  Tyng,  D.D.  He  was  a  great  worker, 
and  suffered,  as  many  of  us  in  the  pulpit  do, 
from  insomnia.  He  was  the  consecrated  champion 
of  everything  good,  a  constant  sufferer  from  the 
lash  of  active  work.  He  often  told  me  that  the 
only  encouragement  he  had  to  think  he  would 
sleep  at  night  was  the  fact  that  he  had  not  slept 
the  night  before.  Insomnia  may  be  only  a  big 
word  for  those  who  do  not  understand  its  effect. 
It  has  stimulated  intellectuality,  and  exhausted 
it.  One  of  the  greatest  English  clergymen  had 
a  gas  jet  on  each  side  of  his  bed,  so  that  he  might 
read  at  nights  when  he  could  not  sleep.  Horace 
Greeley  told  me  he  had  not  had  a  sound  sleep  in  fif- 
teen years.  Charles  Dickens  understood  London  by 
night  better  than  any  other  writer,  because  not  being 
able  to  sleep  he  spent  that  time  in  exploring  the  city. 


A  SPECIAL  SEASON  OF  THANKSGIVING  63 

I  preached  at  the  evening  service  from  the 
text  in  Luke  xvi.  5  :  "  How  much  owest  thou 
unto  my  Lord  ?  "  It  was  a  wonderful  day  for  us 
all.  Enough  money  was  taken  in  by  collections 
and  subscriptions  at  the  morning  and  evening 
services  to  pay  the  floating  debt  of  the  church. 
We  received  that  one  day   $21,000. 

I  quote  the  following  resolution  made  at  a 
meeting  in  my  study  the  next  Thursday  evening 
of  the  Session,  from  the  records  of  the  Tabernacle : 

"  In  regard  to  the  payment  of  the  floating 
debt  of  this  church  and  congregation,  the  Session 
adopted  the  following  resolution,  viz. : — 

"  In  view  of  the  manifest  instance  that  God 
has  heard  the  supplications  of  this  people  re- 
garding the  floating  debt  of  the  Church,  and  so 
directed  their  hearts  as  to  accomplish  the  object, 
it  is  therefore  resolved  that  we  set  apart  next 
Wednesday  evening  as  a  special  season  of  religious 
thanksgiving  to  God  for  his  great  goodness  to  us 
as  a  Church,  in  granting  unto  us  this  deliverance." 

I  reverently  and  solemnly  believe  the  new 
Tabernacle  was  built  by  prayer. 

My  congregation  with  great  munificence  pro- 
vided for  all  my  wants,  and  so  I  can  speak  without 
any  embarrassment  on  the  subject  while  I  de- 
nounce the  niggardliness  of  many  of  the  churches 
of  Jesus  Christ,  keeping  some  men,  who  are  very 
apostles  for  piety  and  consecration,  in  circum- 
stances where  they  are  always  apologetic,  and 
have  not  that  courage  which  they  would  have 
could  they  stand  in  the  presence  of  people  whom 
they  knew  were  faithful  in  the  discharge  of  their 
financial  duties  to  the  Christian  Church.  Alas, 
for  those  men  of  whom  the  world  is  not  worthy! 
In  the  United  States  to-day  the  salary  of  ministers 
averages  less  than  six  hundred  dollars,  and  when 
you  consider  that  some  of  the  salaries  are  very 


64  THE  FOURTH  MILESTONE 

large,  see  to  what  straits  many  of  God's  noblest 
servants  are  this  day  reduced  !  A  live  church  will 
look  after  all  its  financial  interests  and  be  as 
prompt  in  the  meeting  of  those  obligations  as 
any  bank  in  any  city. 

My  church  in  Brooklyn  prospered  because  it 
was  a  soul-saving  church.  It  has  always  been 
the  ambition  of  my  own  church  that  it  should  be 
a  soul- saving  church.  Pardon  for  all  sin !  Com- 
fort for  all  trouble !     Eternal  life  for  all  the  dead ! 

Moral  conditions  in  the  cities  of  New  York 
and  Brooklyn  were  deplorably  bad  during  the 
first  few  years  I  went  there  to  preach.  There 
was  an  onslaught  of  bad  literature  and  stage 
immorality.  For  instance,  there  was  a  lady  who 
came  forth  as  an  authoress  under  the  assumed 
name  of  George  Sand.  She  smoked  cigars.  She 
dressed  like  a  man.  She  wrote  in  style  ardent 
and  eloquent,  mighty  in  its  gloom,  terrible  in 
its  unchastity,  vivid  in  its  portraiture,  damnable 
in  its  influence,  putting  forth  an  evil  which  has 
never  relaxed,  but  has  hundreds  of  copyists.  Yet 
so  much  worse  were  many  French  books  that 
came  to  America  than  anything  George  Sand 
ever  wrote,  that  if  she  were  alive  now  she  might 
be  thought  almost  a  reformer.  What  an  importa- 
tion of  unclean  theatrical  stuff  was  brought  to 
our  shores  at  that  time  !  And  yet  professors  of 
religion  patronised  such  things.  I  remember 
particularly  the  arrival  of  a  foreign  actress  of 
base  morals.  She  came  intending  to  make  a 
tour  of  the  States,  but  the  remaining  decency 
of  our  cities  rose  up  and  cancelled  her  contracts, 
and  drove  her  back  from  the  American  stage, 
a  woman  fit  for  neither  continent.  I  hope  I  was 
instrumental  to  some  degree  in  her  banishment. 
We  were  crude  in  our  morals  then.  I  hope  we 
are  not  merely  civilised  in  them  to-day.     I  hope 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  TABERNACLE  65 

we  understand  how  to  live  better  than  we  did 
then. 

Scarcely  a  year  after  the  final  dedication  of  our 
Tabernacle  in  1871  it  was  completely  burned, 
just  before  a  morning  Sabbath  service  in  December, 
1872. 

I  remember  that  Sabbath  morning.  I  was 
coming  to  the  church,  when  I  saw  the  smoke 
against  the  sky.  I  was  living  in  an  outlying 
section  of  the  city.  I  had  been  absent  for  three 
weeks,  and,  as  I  saw  that  smoke,  I  said  to  my 
wife  :  "  I  should  not  wonder  if  that  is  the 
Tabernacle  " ;  at  the  same  time,  this  was  said  in 
pleasantry  and  not  in  earnest.  As  we  came  on 
nearer  where  the  church  stood,  I  said  quite 
seriously  :  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  is  the 
Tabernacle." 

When  I  came  within  a  few  blocks,  and  I  saw  a 
good  many  people  in  distress  running  across  the 
street,  I  said  :  "  It  is  the  Tabernacle  " ;  and  when 
we  stood  together  in  front  of  the  burning  house 
of  God,  it  was  an  awfully  sad  time.  We  had  stood 
together  through  all  the  crises  of  suffering,  and 
we  must  needs  build  a  church  in  the  very  hardest 
of  times. 

To  put  up  a  structure  in  those  days,  and  so 
large  a  structure  and  so  firm  a  structure  as  we 
needed,  was  a  very  great  demand  upon  our  ener- 
gies. The  fact  that  we  had  to  make  that  struggle 
in  the  worst  financial  period  was  doubly  hard. 

It  was  a  merciful  providence  that  none  of  the 
congregation  was  in  the  church  at  the  time.  It 
was  an  appalling  situation.  In  spite  of  the  best 
efforts  of  the  fire  department,  the  building  was 
in  ruins  in  a  few  hours.  My  congregation  was 
in  despair,  but,  in  the  face  of  trial,  God  has 
always  given  me  all  but  superhuman  strength. 
In  a  thousand  ways  I  had  been  blessed ;  the  Gospel 


66  THE   FOURTH  MILESTONE 

I  had  preached  could  not  stop  then,  I  knew,  and 
while  my  people  were  completely  discouraged  I 
immediately  planned  for  a  newer,  larger,  more 
complete  Tabernacle.  We  needed  more  room  for 
the  increasing  attendance,  and  I  realised  that 
opportunity  again  was  mine. 

We  continued  our  services  in  the  Academy  of 
Music,  in  Brooklyn,  while  the  new  Tabernacle 
was  being  built.  Not  for  a  minute  did  I  relax 
my  energies  to  keep  up  the  work  of  a  practical 
religion.  There  were  300,000  people  in  Brooklyn 
who  had  never  heard  the  Gospel  preached,  an 
army  worthy  of  Christian  interest.  There  was 
room  for  these  300,000  people  in  the  churches 
of  the  city. 

There  was  plenty  of  room  in  heaven  for  them. 

An  ingenious  statistician,  taking  the  statement 
made  in  Revelation  xxi.  that  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem  was  measured  and  found  to  be  twelve 
thousand  furlongs,  and  that  the  length  and  height 
and  breadth  of  it  are  equal,  says  that  would  make 
heaven  in  size  nine  hundred  and  forty-eight 
sextillion,  nine  hundred  and  eighty-eight  quin- 
tillion  cubic  feet ;  and  then  reserving  a  certain 
portion  for  the  court  of  heaven  and  the  streets, 
and  estimating  that  the  world  may  last  a  hundred 
thousand  years,  he  ciphers  out  that  there  are 
over  five  trillion  rooms,  each  room  seventeen  feet 
long,  sixteen  feet  wide,  fifteen  feet  high.  But  I 
have  no  faith  in  the  accuracy  of  that  calculation. 
He  makes  the  rooms  too  small.  From  all  I  can 
read  the  rooms  will  be  palatial,  and  those  who 
have  not  had  enough  room  in  this  world  will 
have  plenty  of  room  at  the  last.  The  fact  is 
that  most  people  in  this  world  are  crowded,  and 
though  out  on  a  vast  prairie  or  in  a  mountain 
district  people  may  have  more  room  than  they 
want,   in  most  cases  it  is  house  built  close  to 


THE   NEW   TABERNACLE  67 

house,  and  the  streets  are  crowded,  and  the 
cradle  is  crowded  by  other  cradles,  and  the 
graves  crowded  in  the  cemetery  by  other  graves  ; 
and  one  of  the  richest  luxuries  of  many  people 
in  getting  out  of  this  world  will  be  the  gaining 
of  unhindered  and  uncramped  room.  And  I 
should  not  wonder  if,  instead  of  the  room  that 
the  statistician  ciphered  out  as  only  seventeen 
feet  by  sixteen,  it  should  be  larger  than  any  of  the 
rooms  at  Berlin,  St.  James,  or  Winter  Palace. 

So  we  built  an  exceedingly  large  church.  The 
new  Tabernacle  seated  comfortably  5,000  people. 
It  was  open  on  February  22,  1874,  for  worship, 
and  completed  a  few  months  later. 


THE  FIFTH  MILESTONE 

1877—1879 

Without  boast  it  may  be  said  that  I  was  among 
those  men  who  with  eager  and  persistent  vigi- 
lance made  the  heart  of  Brooklyn  feel  the  Christ- 
ian purpose  of  the  pulpit,  and  the  utility  of 
religion  in  everyday  life.  The  fifteen  years 
following  the  dedication  of  the  new  Tabernacle 
in  1872  mark  the  most  active  milestone  of  my 
career  as  a  preacher. 

A  minister's  recollections  are  confined  to  his 
interpretation  of  the  life  about  him;  the  men  he 
knows,  the  events  he  sees,  the  good  and  the  bad 
of  his  environment  and  his  period  become  the 
loose  leaves  that  litter  his  study  table. 

I  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  just  forty  years  of 
age.  From  my  private  note-books  and  other 
sources  I  begin  recollections  of  the  most  signi- 
ficant years  in  Brooklyn,  preceding  the  local 
elections  in  1877.  New  York  and  Brooklyn 
were  playmates  then,  seeming  rivals,  but  by 
predestined  fate  bound  to  grow  closer  together. 
I  said  then  that  we  need  not  wait  for  the  three 
bridges  which  would  certainly  bind  them  to- 
gether. The  ferry-boat  then  touching  either 
side  was  only  the  thump  of  one  great  municipal 

68 


CORRUPT   POLITICS  69 

heart.  It  was  plain  to  me  that  this  greater 
Metropolis,  standing  at  the  gate  of  this  continent, 
would  have  to  decide  the  moral  and  political 
destinies  of  the  whole  country. 

Prior  to  the  November  Elections  in  1877,  the 
only  cheering  phase  of  politics  in  Brooklyn  and 
New  York  was  that  there  were  no  lower  political 
depths  to  reach. 

There  was  in  New  York  at  that  time  political 
infamy  greater  than  the  height  of  Trinity  Church 
steeple,  more  stupendous  in  finance  than  the 
$10,000,000  spent  in  building  their  new  Court 
House.  It  was  a  fact  that  the  most  notorious 
gambler  in  the  United  States  was  to  get  the  nom- 
ination for  the  high  office  of  State  Senator.  Both 
Democrats  and  Republicans  struggled  for  his 
election — John  Morrisey,  hailed  as  a  reformer  ! 
On  behalf  of  all  the  respectable  homes  of  Brooklyn 
and  New  York  I  protested  against  his  election. 
He  had  been  indicted  for  burglary,  indicted  for 
assault  and  battery  with  intent  to  kill,  indicted 
eighteen  times  for  maintaining  gambling  places 
in  different  parts  of  the  country.  He  almost 
made  gambling  respectable.  Tweed  trafficked  in 
contracts,  Morrisey  in  the  bodies  and  souls  of 
young  men.  The  District  Attorney  of  New  York 
advocated  him,  and  prominent  Democrats  talked 
themselves  hoarse  for  him.  This  nomination 
was  a  determined  effort  of  the  slumkof  New  York 
to  get  representation  in  the  State  Government. 
It  was  argued  that  he  had  reformed.  The  police 
of  New  York  knew  better. 

In  Brooklyn  the  highest  local  offices  in  1877, 
those  of  the  Collector,  Police  Commissioners,  Fire 
Commission,  Treasurer,  and  the  City  Works  Com- 
missioners, were  under  the  control  of  one  Patrick 
Shannon,  owner  of  two  gin  mills.  Wearing  the 
mask  of  reformers  the  most  astute  and  villainous 


y 


70  THE   FIFTH  MILESTONE 

politicians  piloted  themselves  into  power.  They 
were  all  elected,  and  it  was  necessary.  It  was 
necessary  that  New  York  should  elect  the  fore- 
most gambler  of  the  United  States  for  State 
Senator,  before  the  people  of  New  York  could 
realise  the  depths  of  degradation  to  which  the 
politics  of  that  time  could  sink.  If  Tweed  had 
stolen  only  half  as  much  as  he  did,  investigation 
and  discovery  and  reform  would  have  been  im- 
possible. The  re-election  of  Morrisey  was  neces- 
sary. He  was  elected  not  by  the  vote  of  his  old 
partisans  alone,  but  by  Republicans.  Hamilton 
Fish,  General  Grant's  secretary,  voted  for  him. 
Peter  Cooper,  the  friend  of  education  and  the 
founder  of  a  great  institute,  voted  for  him.  The 
brown-stone-fronts  voted  for  him.  The  Fifth 
Avenue  equipage  voted  for  him.  Murray  Hill 
voted  for  him.  Meanwhile  gambling  was  made 
honourable.  And  so  the  law-breaker  became  the 
law-maker. 

Among  a  large  and  genteel  community  in 
Brooklyn  there  was  a  feeling  that  they  were 
independent  of  politics.  No  one  can  be  so.  It 
was  felt  in  the  home  and  in  the  business  offices. 
It  was  an  influence  that  poisoned  all  the  foundations 
of  public  and  private  virtue  in  Brooklyn  and  New 
York.  The  conditions  of  municipal  immorality 
and  wickedness  were  the  worst  at  this  time  that 
ever  confronted  the  pulpits  of  the  City  of  Churches, 
as  Brooklyn  was  called. 

There  was  one  bright  spot  in  the  dark  horizon 
of  life  around  me  then,  however,  which  I  greeted 
with  much  pleasure  and  amusement. 

In  the  early  part  of  November,  1877,  President 
Hayes  offered  to  Colonel  Robert  Ingersoll  the  ap- 
pointment of  Minister  to  Germany.  The  President 
was  a  Methodist,  and  perhaps  he  thought  that 
was  a  grand  solution  of  Ingersollism.     It  was  a 


ROBERT   INGERSOLL  71 

mirthful  event  of  the  hour — the  joke  of  the 
administration.  Germany  was  the  birthplace 
of  what  was  then  modern  infidelity,  Colonel 
Ingersoll  had  been  filling  the  land  with  belated 
infidelism. 

On  the  stage  of  the  Academy  of  Music  in 
Brooklyn  he  had  attacked  the  memory  of  Tom 
Paine,  assaulted  the  character  of  Rev.  Dr.  Prime, 
one  of  my  neighbours,  the  Nestor  of  religious 
journalism,  and  on  that  same  stage  expressed  his 
opinion  that  God  was  a  great  Ghost.  This  action 
of  President  Hayes  kept  me  smiling  for  a  week — I 
appreciated  the  joke  among  others. 

During  this  month  the  American  Stage  suffered 
the  loss  of  three  celebrities :  Edwin  Adams,  George 
L.  Fox,  and  E.  L.  Davenport.     While  the  Theatre 
never  interested  me,  and  I  never  entered  one,  I 
cannot  criticise  the  dead.     Four  years  before  in 
the  Tabernacle  I  preached  a  sermon  against  the 
Theatre.     I  saw  there  these  men,  sitting  in  pews 
in   front    of  me,    and  that    was    the    only  time. 
They  were  taking  notes  of  my  discourse,  to  which 
they   made   public   replies   on   the   stage   of  the 
Chestnut   Street   Theatre,   Philadelphia,   and   on 
other  stages  at  the  close  of  their  performances. 
Whatever  they  may  have  said  of  me,   I  stood 
uncovered  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  while  the 
curtain  of  the  great  future  went  up  on  them.     My 
sympathy    was    with    the    destitute    households 
left    behind.     Public    benefits    relieved    this.     I 
would  to  God  clergymen  were  as  liberal  to  the 
families  of  deceased  clergymen  as  play-actors  to 
the  families  of  dead  play-actors.     What  a  toil- 
some life,  the  play-actor's  !    On  the  25th  of  March, 
1833,  Edmund  Kean,  sick  and  exhausted,  trem- 
bled on  to  the  English  stage  for  the  last  time, 
when  he  acted  in  the  character  of  Othello.     The 
audience  rose  and  cheered,  and  the  waving  of  hats 


72  THE   FIFTH  MILESTONE 

and  handkerchiefs  was  bewildering,  and  when  he 
came  to  the  expression,  "Farewell!  Othello's 
occupation's  gone ! "  his  chin  fell  on  his  breast,  and 
he  turned  to  his  son  and  said  :  "  O  God,  I  am 
dying  !  speak  to  them  Charles,"  and  the  audience 
in  sympathy  cried,  "  Take  him  off  !  take  him 
off !  "  and  he  was  carried  away  to  die.  Poor 
Edmund  Kean  !  When  Schiller,  the  famous 
comedian,  was  tormented  with  toothache,  some 
one  offered  to  draw  the  tooth.  "  No,"  said  he, 
"  but  on  the  10th  of  June,  when  the  house  closes, 
you  may  draw  the  tooth,  for  then  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  eat  with  it."  The  impersonation  of 
character  is  often  the  means  of  destroying  health. 
Moliere,  the  comedian,  acted  the  sick  man  until 
it  proved  fatal  to  him.  Madame  Clarion  accounts 
for  her  premature  old  age  by  the  fact  that  she  had 
been  obliged  so  often  on  the  stage  to  enact  the 
griefs  and  distresses  of  others.  Mr.  Bond  threw 
so  much  earnestness  into  the  tragedy  of  "  Zarah," 
that  he  fainted  and  died.  The  life  of  the  actor 
and  actress  is  wearing  and  full  of  privation  and 
annoyance,  as  is  any  life  that  depends  upon  the 
whims  of  the  public  for  success. 

One  of  the  events  in  Church  matters,  towards 
the  close  of  this  year,  was  a  pastoral  letter  of  the 
Episcopal  Bishops  against  Church  fairs.  So  many 
churches  were  holding  fairs  then,  they  were 
a  recognised  social  attribute  of  the  Church  family. 
This  letter  aroused  the  question  as  to  whether  it 
was  right  or  wrong  to  have  Church  fairs,  and  the 
newspapers  became  very  fretful  about  it.  I 
defended  the  Church  fairs,  because  I  felt  that  if 
they  were  conducted  on  Christian  principles  they 
were  the  means  of  an  universal  sociality  and 
spiritual  strength.  So  far  as  I  had  been  acquain- 
ted with  them,  they  had  made  the  Church  purer, 
better.     Some  fairs  may  end  in  a  fight ;  they  are 


A   CONTRAST   IN   WILLS  73 

badly  managed,  perhaps.  A  Church  fair,  officered 
by  Christian  women,  held  within  Christian  hours, 
conducted  on  Christian  plans,  I  approved,  the 
pastoral  letter  of  the  Episcopal  Bishops  not- 
withstanding. 

Just  when  we  were  in  the  midst  of  this  religious 
tempest  of  small  finances,  the  will  of  Commodore 
Cornelius  Vanderbilt  came  up  in  the  court  for 
discussion.  The  whole  world  was  anxious  then 
to  know  if  the  Vanderbilt  will  could  be  broken. 
After  battling  half  a  century  with  diseases  enough 
to  kill  ten  men,  Mr.  Vanderbilt  died,  an  octo- 
genarian, leaving  over  $100,000,000— $95,000,000 
to  his  eldest  son — $5,000,000  to  his  wife,  and  the 
remainder  to  his  other  children  and  relations, 
with  here  and  there  a  slight  recognition  of  some 
humane  or  religious  institution.  I  said  then 
that  the  will  could  not  be  broken,  because 
$95,000,000  in  this  country  seemed  too  mighty 
for  $5,000,000.  It  was  a  strange  will,  and  if 
Mr.  Vanderbilt  had  been  his  own  executor  of  it, 
without  lawyers'  interference,  I  believe  it  would 
have  been  different.  It  suggests  a  comparison 
with  George  Peabody,  who  executed  the  distri- 
bution of  his  property  without  legal  talent. 
Peabody  gave  $250,000  for  a  library  in  his  own 
town  in  Massachusetts,  and  in  his  will  left 
$10,000  to  the  Baltimore  Institute,  $20,000 
to  the  poor  of  London,  $10,000  to  Harvard, 
$150,000  to  Yale,  $50,000  to  Salem,  Mas- 
sachusetts, and  $3,000,000  to  the  education  of 
the  people  of  the  South  in  this  country.  No 
wonder  he  refused  a  baronetcy  which  the  Queen 
of  England  offered  him,  he  was  a  king — the  king 
of  human  benefaction.  That  Vanderbilt  will 
was  the  seven  days  wonder  of  its  time. 

It  made  way  only  for  the  President's  message 
issued  the  first  week  in  December,  1877.     It  was, 


74  THE  FIFTH  MILESTONE 

in  fact,  Mr.  Hayes's  repudiation  of  a  dishonest 
measure  prepared  by  members  of  Congress  to 
pay  off  our  national  debt  in  silver  instead  of 
in  gold  as  had  been  promised. 

The  newspapers  received  the  President's  mes- 
sage with  indifferent  opinion.  "  It  is  disappoint- 
ing," said  one.  "As  a  piece  of  composition  it  is 
terse  and  well  written,"  said  another.  "  The 
President  used  a  good  many  big  words  to  say 
very  little,"  said  another.  "  President  Hayes 
will  secure  a  respectful  hearing  by  the  ability 
and  character  of  this  document,"  said  another. 
"  Leaving  out  his  bragging  over  his  policy  of 
pacification  and  concerning  things  he  claims  to 
have  done,  the  space  remaining  will  be  very  small," 
said  another. 

But  all  who  read  the  message  carefully 
realised  that  in  it  the  President  promised  the 
people  to  put  an  end  to  the  dishonour  of  thieving 
politics.  There  was  something  in  the  air  in  Wash- 
ington that  seemed  to  afflict  the  men  who  went 
there  with  moral  distemper.  I  was  told  that 
Coates  Ames  was  almost  a  Christian  in  Massachu- 
setts, while  in  Washington,  from  his  house,  was 
born  that  monster — The  Credit  Mobilier.  Con- 
gressmen who  in  their  own  homes  would  insist  upon 
paying  their  private  obligations,  dollar  for  dollar, 
forgot  this  standard  of  business  honour  when  they 
advocated  a  swindling  policy  for  the  Government 
of  the  United  States.  In  its  day  of  trouble  the 
Government  was  glad  to  promise  gold  to  the 
people  who  had  confidence  in  them,  and  just  as 
gladly  the  Government  proposed  to  swindle  them 
by  a  silver  falsehood  in  1877.  But  the  Nation 
was  just  recovering  from  a  four  years'  drunk  ;  Mr. 
Hayes  undertook  to  steady  us,  during  the  after- 
effects of  our  war-spree.  Why  should  we  neglect 
to  pay  in  full  the  price  of  our  four  years'  unright- 


THE   CREDIT   MOBILIER  75 

eousness  ?  As  a  nation  we  had  so  often  been  re- 
lieved from  financial  depression  up  to  that  time, 
but,  we  were  just  entering  a  period  of  unlicensed 
ethics,  not  merely  in  public  life,  but  in  all  our 
private   standards   of  morality. 

It  seems  to  me,  as  I  recall  the  character  of 
Brooklyn  life  at  this  time,  there  never  was  a 
period  in  its  history  when  it  was  so  intolerably 
wicked.  And  yet,  we  had  276  churches.  One 
night  about  Christmas  time,  in  1877,  Brooklyn 
Heights  was  startled  by  a  pistol  shot  that  set 
everyone  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn  to  moralising. 
It  was  the  Johnson  tragedy.  A  young  husband 
shot  his  young  wife,  with  intent  to  kill.  She  was 
seriously  wounded.  He  went  to  prison.  There 
was  a  child,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  child,  who  is 
now  probably  grown  up,  I  will  not  relate  the 
details.  In  all  my  experience  of  life  I  have 
heard  many  stories  of  domestic  failure,  but  there 
are  always  two  sides.  Those  who  moralised 
about  it  said,  "  That's  what  comes  of  marrying 
too  young !  "  Others,  moralising  too,  said,  "  That's 
what  comes  of  not  controlling  one's  temper." 
Who  does  control  his  temper,  always  ? 

To  my  mind  the  chief  lesson  was  in  the  fact 
that  the  young  men  of  Brooklyn  had  taken  too 
much  of  a  notion  to  carry  firearms.  There  was 
a  puppyism  sprang  up  in  Brooklyn  that  felt  they 
couldn't  live  unless  they  were  armed.  Young 
boys  went  about  their  daily  occupations  armed 
to  the  teeth,  as  if  Fulton  Street  were  an  ambush 
for  Indians.  I  mention  this,  because  it  was  a 
singular  phase  of  the  social  restlessness  and  tremor 
of  the  times. 

In  commercial  evolution  there  was  the  same 
indistinctness  of  standards.  The  case  of  Dr. 
Lambert — the  Life  Insurance  fraud — had  no 
sooner   been  disposed  of,  and   Lambert   sent  to 


76  THE   FIFTH  MILESTONE 

Sing-Sing,  than  the  sudden  failure  of  Bonner 
&  Co.,  brokers  in  Wall  Street,  presented  us  with 
the  problem  of  business  "  rehypothecation." 

In  my  opinion  a  man  has  as  much  right  to  fail 
in  business  as  he  has  to  get  sick  and  die.  In 
most  cases  it  is  more  honourable  to  fail  than  to  go 
on.  Every  insolvent  is  not  necessarily  a  scoun- 
drel. The  greatest  crime  is  to  fail  rich.  John 
Bonner  &  Co.,  as  brokers,  had  loaned  money  on 
deposited  collaterals,  and  then  borrowed  still  larger 
sums  on  the  same  collaterals.  Their  creditors  were 
duped  to  the  extent  of  from  one  to  three  millions 
of  dollars.  It  was  the  first  crime  of  "rehypothe- 
cation." It  was  not  a  Wall  Street  theft;  it 
was  a  new  use  for  an  almost  unknown  word  in 
Noah  Webster's  dictionary.  It  was  a  new  word 
in  the  rogue's  vocabulary.  It  was  one  of  the  first 
attempts  made,  in  my  knowledge,  to  soften  the 
aspect  of  crime  by  baptising  it  in  that  way. 
v/  Crime  in  this  country  will  always  be  excused  in 
proportion  to  how  great  it  is.  But  even  in  the 
face  of  Wall  Street  tricksters  there  were  signs 
that  the  days  were  gone  when  the  Jay  Goulds 
and  the  Jim  Fisks  could  hold  the  nation  at  their 
mercy. 

The  comedy  of  life  is  sometimes  quite  as  in- 
structive as  a  tragedy.  There  was  a  flagrant 
disposition  in  America,  in  the  late  'seventies,  to 
display  family  affairs  in  the  newspapers.  It 
became  an  epidemic  of  notoriety.  What  a  deli- 
cious literature  it  was  !  The  private  affairs  of  the 
household  printed  by  the  million  copies.  Chief 
among  these  novelettes  of  family  life  was  the 
Hicks-Lord  case.  The  world  was  informed  one 
morning  in  February,  1878,  that  a  Mr.  Lord,  a 
millionaire,  had  united  his  fortune  with  a  Mrs. 
Hicks.  The  children  of  the  former  were  offended 
at    the    second    marriage    of    the    latter,    more 


THE   HICKS-LORD   CASE  77 

especially  so  as  the  new  reunion  might  change 
the  direction  of  the  property.  The  father  was 
accused  of  being  insane  by  his  children,  and  in- 
capable of  managing  his  own  affairs.  The  Courts 
were  invoked.  One  thing  was  made  plain  to  all 
the  world,  though,  that  Mr.  Lord  at  eighty  knew 
more  than  his  children  did  at  thirty  or  forty. 
The  happy  pair  were  compelled  to  remain  in  long 
seclusion  because  of  murderous  threats  against 
them,  the  children  having  proposed  a  corpse 
instead  of  a  bride.  The  absorbing  question  of 
weeks,  "  Where  is  Mr.  Lord  ?  "  was  answered. 
He  was  in  the  newspapers — and  the  children  ? 
they  were  across  the  old  man's  knee,  where  they 
belonged.  Mr.  Lord  was  right.  Mrs.  Hicks  was 
right.  It  was  nobody's  business  but  their  own. 
Brooklyn  and  New  York  were  exceeding  busy- 
bodies  in  the  late  'seventies.  It  was  a  relief  to 
turn  one's  back  upon  them  occasionally,  in  the 
pulpit,  and  search  the  furthest  horizon  of  Europe. 

Scarcely  had  Victor  Emmanuel  been  entombed 
when  on  Feb.  7th  a  tired  old  man,  eighty-four  years 
of  age,  died  in  the  Vatican,  Pius  IX.,  a  kind  and 
forgiving  man.  His  trust  was  not  wholly  in  the 
crucifix,  but  something  beyond  the  crucifix;  and 
yet,  how  small  a  man  is  when  measured  by  the 
length  of  his  coffin  !  Events  in  Europe  marshalled 
themselves  into  a  formula  of  new  problems  at 
the  beginning  of  1878.  The  complete  defeat  of 
Turkey  by  the  Russians  left  England  and  the 
United  States — allies  in  the  great  causes  of  civili- 
sation and  Christianity — aghast.  It  was  the  most 
intense  political  movement  in  Europe  of  my  life- 
time. I  was  glad  the  Turkish  Empire  had  perished, 
but  I  had  no  admiration  then  for  Russia,  once 
one  of  the  world's  greatest  oppressors. 

My  deepest  sympathies  at  that  time  were  with 
England.      When    England    is    humiliated    the 


78  THE   FIFTH   MILESTONE 

Christian  standards  of  the  world  are  humiliated. 
Her  throne  during  Queen  Victoria's  reign  was 
the  purest  throne  in  all  the  world.  Remember  the 
girl  Victoria,  kneeling  with  her  ecclesiastical 
adviser  in  prayer  the  night  before  her  coronation, 
making  religious  vows,  not  one  of  which  were 
broken.  I  urged  then  that  all  our  American 
churches  throughout  the  land  unite  with  the 
cathedrals  and  churches  in  England  in  shouting 
"  God  Save  the  Queen."  England  held  the 
balance  of  the  world's  power  for  Christianity  in 
this  crisis  abroad. 

About  this  time,  in  February,  1878,  Senator 
Pierce  presented  a  Bill  before  the  Legislature  in 
Albany  for  a  new  city  charter  for  Brooklyn. 
In  its  reform  movement  it  meant  that  in  three 
years  at  the  most  Brooklyn  and  New  York 
would  be  legally  married.  Instead  of  Brooklyn 
being  depressed  by  New  York,  New  York  was  to 
be  elevated  by  Brooklyn.  Already  we  felt  at 
that  time,  in  the  light  of  Senator  Pierce's  efforts, 
that  Brooklyn  would  become  a  reformed  New 
York ;  it  would  be — New  York  with  its  cares  set 
aside,  New  York  with  its  arms  folded  at  rest, 
New  York  playing  with  the  children,  New  York 
at  the  tea  table,  New  York  gone  to  prayer-meet- 
ing. Nine-tenths  of  the  Brooklynites  then  were 
spending  their  days  in  New  York,  and  their  nights 
in  Brooklyn.  In  the  year  1877,  80,000,000  of 
people  crossed  the  Brooklyn  ferries.  Paris  is 
France,  London  is  England,  why  not  New  York 
the  United  States  ? 

The  new  charter  recommended  by  Senator 
Pierce  urged  other  reforms  in  a  local  government 
that  was  too  costly  by  far.  Under  right  adminis- 
tration who  could  tell  what  our  beloved  city  is 
to  be  ?  Prospect  Park,  the  geographical  centre, 
a    beautiful    picture    set    in    a   great    frame    of 


A   PROPHECY  79 

architectural  affluence.  The  boulevards  reaching  to 
the  sea,  their  sides  lined  the  whole  distance  with 
luxurious  homes  and  academies  of  art.  Our 
united  city  a  hundred  Brightons  in  one,  and  the 
inland  populations  coming  down  here  to  summer 
and  battle  in  the  surf.  The  great  American 
London  built  by  a  continent  on  which  all  the 
people  are  free  ;  her  vast  populations  redeemed  ; 
her  churches  thronged  with  worshipful  auditories ! 
Before  that  time  we  may  have  fallen  asleep  amid 
the  long  grass  of  the  valleys,  but  our  children  will 
enjoy  the  brightness  and  the  honour  of  residence 
in  the  great  Christian  city  of  the  continent  and 
of  the  world. 

It  was  this  era  of  optimism  in  the  civic  life  of 
Brooklyn  that  helped  to  defeat  the  Lafayette 
Avenue  railroad. 

It  was  a  scheme  of  New  York  speculators  to 
deface  one  of  the  finest  avenues  in  Brooklyn.  The 
most  profitable  business  activity  in  this  country 
is  to  invest  other  people's  money.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  Lafayette  railroad  deal  was  only  a 
sort  of  blackmailing  institution  to  compel  the 
property  holders  to  pay  for  the  discontinuance  of 
the  enterprise,  or  the  company  would  sell  out  to 
some  other  company ;  and  as  the  original  company 
paid  nothing  all  they  get  is  clear  gain ;  and  whether 
the  railroad  is  built  or  not,  the  people  for  years, 
all  along  the  beautiful  route,  would  be  kept  in 
suspense.  There  was  no  more  need  of  a  car  track 
along  Lafayette  avenue  than  there  was  need  of 
one  from  the  top  of  Trinity  Church  steeple  to  the 
moon !  The  greater  facility  of  travel,  the  greater 
prosperity!  But  I  am  opposed  to  all  railroads, 
the  depot  for  which  is  an  unprincipled  speculator's 
pocket. 

It  was  only  a  few  weeks  later  that  I  had  to 
condemn  a  much  greater  matter,  a  national  event. 


80  THE   FIFTH   MILESTONE 

On  March  1,  1878,  the  Silver  Bill  was  passed 
in  Washington,  notwithstanding  the  President's 
veto.  The  House  passed  it  by  a  vote  of  196 
against  73,  and  the  Senate  agreed  with  a  vote  of 
46  against  10.  It  would  be  asking  too  much  to 
expect  anyone  to  believe  that  the  196  men  in 
Congress  were  bought  up.  So  far  as  I  knew  the 
men,  they  were  as  honest  on  one  side  of  the  vote 
as  on  the  other.  Senator  Conkling,  that  giant  of 
integrity,  opposed  it.  Alexander  H.  Stephens 
voted  for  it.  I  talked  with  Mr.  Stephens  about 
it,  and  he  said  to  me  at  the  time,  "  Unless  the 
Silver  Bill  pass,  in  the  next  six  months  there  will 
not  be  two  hundred  business  houses  in  New  York 
able  to  stand."  Still,  the  Silver  Bill  seemed  like 
the  first  step  towards  repudiation  of  our  national 
obligation,  but  I  believe  that  at  least  190  out  of 
those  196  men  who  voted  for  it  would  have  sacrificed 
their  lives  rather  than  repudiate  our  national  debt. 

I  had  an  opportunity  to  comprehend  the  politi- 
cal explosion  of  the  passage  of  this  Bill  all  over 
the  country,  for  it  so  happened  I  made  a  lecturing 
trip  through  the  South  and  South-west  during 
the  month  of  March,  1878. 

There  is  one  word  that  described  the  whole 
feeling  in  the  South  at  this  time,  and  that  was 
"  hope."  The  most  cheerful  city,  I  found,  was 
New  Orleans.  She  was  rejoicing  in  the  release 
from  years  of  unrighteous  government.  Just 
how  the  State  of  Louisiana  had  been  badgered, 
and  her  every  idea  of  self-government  insulted, 
can  be  appreciated  only  by  those  who  come  face  to 
face  with  the  facts.  While  some  of  the  best 
patriots  of  the  North  went  down  with  the  right 
motives  to  mingle  in  the  reconstruction  of  the 
State  governments  of  the  South,  many  of  these 
piigrimists  were  the  cast-off  and  thieving  politi- 
cians of  the  North,  who,  after  being  stoned  out 


THE   HOPEFUL   SOUTH  81 

of  Northern  waters,  crawled  up  on  the  beach  at 
the  South  to  sun  themselves.  The  Southern 
States  had  enough  dishonest  men  of  their  own 
without  any  importation.  The  day  of  trouble 
passed.  Louisiana  and  South  Carolina  for  the 
most  part  are  free.  Governor  Nichols  of  the 
one,  and  Governor  Wade  Hampton  of  the  other, 
had  the  confidence  of  the  great  masses  of  the 
people. 

It  was  my  opinion  then  that  the  largest 
fortunes  were  yet  to  be  made  in  the  South, 
because  there  was  more  room  to  make  them  there. 
During  my  two  weeks  in  the  South,  at  that  time, 
mingling  with  all  classes  of  people,  I  never  heard 
an  unkind  word  against  the  North,  and  that  only 
a  little  over  ten  years  since  the  close  of  the  war. 
Congressional  politicians  were  still  enlarging  upon 
the  belligerency  of  the  South,  but  they  had 
personal  designs  at  President  making.  There 
was  no  more  use  for  Federal  military  in  New 
Orleans  than  there  was  need  of  them  in  Brooklyn. 
I  was  the  guest  in  New  Orleans  of  the  Hon.  E.  J. 
Ellis,  many  years  in  Congress,  and  I  had  a  taste 
of  real  Southern  hospitality.  It  was  everywhere. 
The  spirit  of  fraternity  was  in  the  South  long 
before  it  reached  the  North.  Up  to  this  time  I 
had  echoed  Horace  Greeley's  advice,  "  Go  West." 
For  years  afterwards  I  changed  it.  In  my  ad- 
vice to  young  men  I  said  to  all,  "  Go  South." 

In  the  spring  of  1878,  however,  things  in 
Brooklyn  began  to  look  more  promising  for  young 
men  and  young  women.  I  remember  after 
closely  examining  Mayor  Howell's  report  and  the 
Police  Commissioner's  report  I  was  much  pleased. 
Mayor  Howell  was  one  of  the  most  courteous  and 
genial  men  I  ever  knew,  and  Superintendent 
Campbell  was  a  good  police  officer.  These  two 
men,   by   their  individual   interest   in   Brooklyn 


82  THE   FIFTH   MILESTONE 

reforms,  had  gained  the  confidence  of  our  tax- 
payers and  our  philanthropists.  The  police  force 
was  too  small  for  a  city  of  5,000,000  people.  The 
taxes  were  not  big  enough  to  afford  an  adequate 
equipment.  There  was  a  constant  depreciation  of 
our  police  and  excise  officials  in  the  churches.  City 
officials  should  not  be  caricatured — they  should  be 
respected,  or  dismissed.  It  was  about  this  time  a 
mounted  police  department  was  started  in  Brook- 
lyn, and  though  small  it  was  needed.  What  the 
miscreant  community  of  Brooklyn  most  needed  at 
this  time  was  not  sermons  or  lessons  in  the 
common   schools,   but   a   police   club — and   they 

£ot  it- 

There  was  a  political  avarice  in  Brooklyn  in  the 

management  of  our  public  taxes  which  handi- 
capped the  local  government.  For  a  long  while 
I  had  been  thinking  about  some  way  of  presenting 
this  sin  to  my  people,  when  one  day  a  woman, 
Barbara  Allen  by  name,  dropping  in  fatal  illness, 
was  picked  up  at  the  Fulton  Ferry  House,  and 
died  in  the  ambulance.  On  her  arm  was  a  basket 
of  cold  victuals  she  had  lugged  from  house  to 
house.  In  the  rags  of  her  clothing  were  found 
deposit  slips  in  the  savings  banks  of  Brooklyn — 
for  §20,000.  The  case  was  unique  at  that  time, 
because  in  those  days  great  wealth  was  unknown, 
even  in  New  York,  and  the  houses  in  Brooklyn 
were  homes — not  museums.  Twenty  thousand 
dollars  was  a  fortune.  It  was  a  precedent  that 
established  miserliness  as  an  actual  sin,  a  dis- 
sipation just  as  deadly  as  that  of  the  spendthrift. 
It  was  a  tragic  scene  from  the  drama  of  life,  and 
its  surprise  was  avarice.  The  whole  country 
read  about  Barbara  Allen,  and  wondered  what 
new  strange  disease  this  was  that  could  scourge  a 
human  soul  with  a  madness  for  accumulating 
money  without  spending  it.     The  people  of  the 


THE   TIGER   IN   THE   JUNGLE        83 

United  States  suffered  from  quite  a  different  idea 
of  money.  They  were  just  beginning  to  feel  the 
great  American  fever  for  spending  more  of  it  than 
they  could  get.  This  was  a  serious  phase  of 
social  conditions  then,  and  I  remember  how 
keenly  I  felt  the  menace  of  it  at  the  time.  Those 
who  couldn't  get  enough  to  spend  became  envious, 
jealous,  hateful  of  those  who  could  and  these 
envious  ones  were  the  American  masses. 

In  the  spring  of  1878,  in  May,  there  was  a  tiger 
sprang  out  of  this  jungle  of  discontent,  and, 
crouching,  threatened  to  spring  upon  American 
Society. 

It  was — Communism.  Its  theory  was  that 
what  could  not  be  obtained  lawfully,  under  the 
pressure  of  circumstances,  you  could  take  anyhow. 
Communism  meant  no  individual  rights  in 
property.  If  wages  were  not  adequate  to  the 
luxurious  appetite,  then  the  wage-earner  claimed 
the  right  to  knock  his  employer  down  and  take 
what  he  wanted.  "Bread  or  blood"  was  the 
motto.  It  all  came  from  across  the  Atlantic,  and 
it  spread  rapidly.  In  Brooklyn,  New  York, 
Chicago,  St.  Louis,  it  was  evident  that  Communism 
was  organising,  that  its  executive  desperadoes 
met  in  rooms,  formed  lodges,  invented  grips  and 
pass-words. 

In  the  eighth  ward  of  New  York  an  organ- 
isation was  unearthed  at  this  time,  consisting  of 
800  men,  all  armed  with  muskets  and  revolvers. 
These  organisations  described  themselves  as 
working-men's  parties,  and  so  tried  to  ally  them- 
selves with  the  interests  of  trade  unions. 

Twenty  American  newspapers  advocated  this 
shocking  creed.  Tens  of  thousands  adopted  this 
theory.  I  said  then,  in  response  to  the  opinion 
that  Communism  was  impossible  in  this  country, 
that  there  were  just  as  many  cut-throats  along  the 


84  THE  FIFTH  MILESTONE 

East  River  and  the  Hudson  as  there  were  along 
the  Seine  or  the  Thames.  There  was  only  one 
thing  that  prevented  revolution  in  our  cities  in 
this  memorable  spring  of  1878,  and  that  was  the 
police  and  the  military  guard. 

Through  dissatisfaction  about  wages,  or  from 
any  cause,  men  have  a  right  to  stop  work,  and  to 
stop  in  bands  and  bodies  until  their  labour  shall 
be  appreciated  ;  but  when  by  violence,  as  in  the 
summer  of  1877,  they  compel  others  to  stop,  or 
hinder  substitutes  from  taking  the  places,  then 
the  act  is  Communistic,  and  ought  to  be  riven  of 
the  lightnings  of  public  condemnation.  What 
was  the  matter  in  Pittsburg  that  summer  ?  What 
fired  the  long  line  of  cars  that  made  night 
hideous  ?  What  lifted  the  wild  howl  in  Chicago  ? 
Why,  coming  toward  that  city ,  were  we  obliged  to 
dismount  from  the  cars  and  take  carriages 
through  the  back  streets  ?  Why,  when  one  night 
the  Michigan  Central  train  left  Chicago,  were 
there  but  three  passengers  on  board  a  train  of 
eight  cars  ?  What  forced  three  rail  trains  from 
the  tracks  and  shot  down  engineers  with  their 
hands  on  the  valves  ?  Communism.  For  hun- 
dreds of  miles  along  the  track  leading  from  the 
great  West  I  saw  stretched  out  and  coiled  up  the 
great  reptile  which,  after  crushing  the  free  loco- 
motive of  passengers  and  trade,  would  have 
twisted  itself  around  our  republican  institutions, 
and  left  them  in  strangulation  and  blood  along 
the  pathway  of  nations.  The  governors  of  States 
and  the  President  of  the  United  States  did  well 
in  planting  the  loaded  cannon  at  the  head  of 
streets  blocked  up  by  desperadoes.  I  felt  the 
inspiration  of  giving  warning,  and  I  did. 

But  the  summer  came,  August  came,  and  after 
a  lecture  tour  through  the  far  West  I  was  amazed 
and  delighted  to  find  there  a  tremendous  harvest 


COMMUNISM  85 

in  the  grain  fields.  I  had  seen  immense  crops 
there  about  to  start  on  their  way  to  the  Eastern 
sea-boundary  of  our  continent.  I  saw  then  that 
our  prosperity  as  a  nation  would  depend  upon 
our  agriculture.  It  didn't  make  any  difference 
what  the  Greenback  party,  or  the  Republican  and 
Democratic  parties,  or  the  Communists  were 
croaking  about;  the  immense  harvests  of  the 
West  indicated  that  nothing  was  the  matter. 
What  we  needed  in  the  fall  of  1878  was  some 
cheerful  talk. 

During  this  summer  two  of  the  world's  cele- 
brities died  :  Charles  Mathews,  the  famous 
comedian,  and  the  great  American  poet,  William 
Cullen  Bryant.  Charles  Mathews  was  an  illus- 
trious actor.  He  was  born  to  make  the  world 
laugh,  but  he  had  a  sad  life  of  struggle. 

While  Charles  Mathews  was  performing  in 
London  before  immense  audiences,  one  day  a 
worn-out  and  gloomy  man  came  into  a  doctor's 
shop,  saying,  "  Doctor,  what  can  you  do  for  me  ?  " 
The  doctor  examined  his  case  and  said,  "  My 
advice  is  that  you  go  and  see  Charles  Mathews." 
"  Alas  !  Alas  !  "  said  the  man,  "  I  myself  am 
Charles  Mathews." 

In  the  loss  of  William  Cullen  Bryant  I  felt  it 
as  a  personal  bereavement  of  a  close  friend. 
Nowhere  have  I  seen  the  following  incident  of  his 
life  recorded,  an  incident  which  I  still  remember 
as  one  of  the  great  events  in  my  life. 

In  the  days  of  my  boyhood  I  attended  a 
meeting  at  Tripler  Hall,  held  as  a  memorial  of 
Fenimore  Cooper,  who  at  that  time  had  just 
died.  Washington  Irving  stepped  out  on  the 
speaker's  platform  first,  trembling,  and  in  evident 
misery.  After  stammering  and  blushing  and 
bowing,  he  completely  broke  down  in  his  effort 
to  make  a    speech,   and    briefly  introduced  the 


86  THE   FIFTH  MILESTONE 

presiding  officer  of  the  meeting,  Daniel  Webster. 
Rising  like  a  huge  mountain  from  a  plain  this 
great  orator  introduced  another  orator — the 
orator  of  the  day — William  Cullen  Bryant.  In 
that  memorable  oration,  lasting  an  hour  and  a 
half,  the  speaker  told  lovingly  the  story  of  the 
life  and  death  of  the  author  of  "  Leather  Stock- 
ing "  and  "  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans." 

George  W.  Bethune  followed  him,  thundering 
out  in  that  marvellous  flow  of  ideas,  with  an 
eloquence  that  made  him  the  pulpit  orator  of 
his  generation  in  the  South.  Bryant's  hair  was 
then  just  touched  with  grey.  The  last  time  I  saw 
him  was  in  my  house  on  Oxford  Street,  two  years 
ago,  in  a  company  of  literary  people.  I  said  : 
"  Mr.  Bryant,  will  you  read  for  us  '  Thanatopsis '  ?  " 
He  blushed  like  a  girl,  and  put  his  hands  over  his 
face  and  said  :  "I  would  rather  read  anything 
than  my  own  production  ;  but  if  it  will  give  you 
pleasure  I  will  do  anything  you  say."  Then  at 
82  years  of  age,  and  without  spectacles,  he  stood 
up  and  with  most  pathetic  tenderness  read  the 
famous  poem  of  his  boyhood  days,  and  from  a  score 
of  lips  burst  forth  the  exclamation,  "  What  a 
wonderful  old  man  !  "  What  made  all  the  land 
and  all  the  world  feel  so  badly  when  William 
Cullen  Bryant  was  laid  down  at  Roslyn  ?  Because 
he  was  a  great  poet  who  had  died  ?  No  ;  there 
have  been  greater  poets.  Because  he  was  so  able 
an  editor  ?  No  ;  there  have  been  abler  editors. 
Because  he  was  so  very  old  ?  No ;  some  have 
attained  more  years.  It  was  because  a  spotless 
and  noble  character  irradiated  all  he  wrote  and 
said  and  did. 

These  great  men  of  America,  how  much  they 
were  to  me,  in  their  example  of  doing  and  living  ! 

Probably  there  are  many  still  living  who  remem- 
ber what  a  disorderly  place  Brooklyn  once  was. 


REIGN  OF  TERROR  87 

Gangs  of  loafers  hung  around  our  street  corners, 
insulting  and  threatening  men  and  women. 
Carriages  were  held  up  in  the  streets,  the  occupants 
robbed,  and  the  vehicles  stolen.  Kidnapping 
was  known.  Behind  all  this  outrage  of  civil 
rights  was  political  outrage.  The  politicians 
were  afraid  to  offend  the  criminals,  because  they 
might  need  their  votes  in  future  elections.  They 
were  immune,  because  they  were  useful  material 
in  case  of  a  new  governor  or  President.  It  was 
a  reign  of  terror  that  spread  also  in  other  large 
cities.  The  farmers  of  Ohio  and  Pennsylvania 
were  threatened  if  they  did  not  stop  buying 
labour-saving  machinery.  They  were  not  the 
threats  of  the  working-man,  but  of  the  lazy, 
criminal  loafers  of  the  country.  It  is  worth 
mentioning,  because  it  was  a  convulsion  of  an 
American  period,  a  national  growing  pain,  which 
I  then  saw  and  talked  about.  The  nation  was 
under  the  cloud  of  political  ambition  and  office- 
seeking  that  unsettled  business  conditions.  Every 
one  was  occupied  in  President-making,  although 
we  were  two  years  from  the  Presidential  election. 
There  was  plenty  of  money,  but  people  held  on 
to  it. 

The  yellow  fever  scourge  came  down  upon  the 
South  during  the  late  summer  of  1878,  and  softened 
the  hearts  of  some.  There  was  some  money  con- 
tributed from  the  North,  but  not  as  much  as 
there  ought  to  have  been.  In  the  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle  we  did  the  best  we  could;  New  York 
city  had  been  ravaged  by  yellow  fever  in  1832,  the 
year  I  was  born,  but  the  memory  of  that  horror 
was  not  keen  enough  to  influence  the  collection 
plate.  What  with  this  suffering  of  our  neigh- 
bours in  the  South,  and  the  troubles  of  political 
jealousies  local  and  national,  there  were  cares 
enough    for    our  church  to  consider.     Still,   the 


88  THE   FIFTH  MILESTONE 

summer  of  1878  was  almost  through,  and  many 
predictions  of  disaster  had  failed.  We  had  been 
threatened  with  general  riots.  It  was  predicted 
that  on  June  27  all  the  cars  and  railroad  stations 
would  be  burned,  because  of  a  general  strike 
order.  We  were  threatened  with  a  fruit  famine. 
It  was  said  that  the  Maryland  and  New  Jersey 
peach  crop  was  a  failure.  I  never  saw  or  ate 
so  many  peaches  any  summer  before. 

Then  there  was  the  Patten  investigation  com- 
mittee, determined  to  send  Mr.  Tilden  down  to 
Washington  to  drive  the  President  out  of  the 
White  House.  None  of  these  things  happened, 
yet  it  is  interesting  to  recall  this  phase  of  American 
nerves  in  1878. 

There  was  one  event  that  aroused  my  disgust, 
however,  much  more  than  the  croakers  had  done 
— Ben  Butler  was  nominated  for  Governor  of 
Massachusetts.  That  was  when  politics  touched 
bottom.  There  was  no  lower  depths  of  infamy  for 
them  to  reach.  Ben  Butler  was  the  chief  dema- 
gogue of  the  land.  The  Republican  party  was 
to  be  congratulated  that  it  got  rid  of  him.  His 
election  was  a  cross  put  upon  the  State  of 
Massachusetts  for  something  it  had  done  we  knew 
not  of.  Fortunately  there  were  men  like  Roscoe 
Conkling  in  politics  to  counterbalance  other 
kinds. 

Backed  up  by  unscrupulous  politicians,  the 
equally  irresponsible  railroad  promoter  began 
his  invasion  of  city  streets  with  his  noisy  scheme. 
I  opposed  him,  but  the  problem  of  transportation 
then  was  not  as  it  is  now.  Just  as  the  year  1879 
had  begun,  a  gigantic  political  promoting  scheme 
for  an  elevated  railroad  in  Brooklyn  was 
attempted.  From  Boston  came  the  promoters 
with  a  proposition  to  build  the  road,  without 
paying  a  cent  of  indemnity  to  property  holders. 


PROFESSOR  THOMAS  EDISON         89 

I  suggested  that  an  appeal  be  made  to  Brooklyn- 
ites  to  subscribe  to  a  company  for  the  agricultural 
improvements  of  Boston  Common.  It  was  a 
parallel  absurdity.  Mayor  Howell,  of  Brooklyn, 
courageously  opposed  an  elevated  road  franchise, 
unless  property  holders  were  paid  according  to 
the  damage  to  the  property.  This  was  one 
of  many  inspired  grafts  of  political  Brooklyn, 
years  ago. 

A  great  event  in  the  world  was  the  announce- 
ment in  November,  1878,  that  Professor  Thomas 
Edison  had  applied  for  a  patent  for  the  discovery 
of  the  incandescent  electric  light.  He  harnessed 
the  flame  of  a  thunderbolt  to  fit  in  a  candlestick. 
I  hope  he  made  millions  of  dollars  out  of  it.  In 
direct  contradiction  to  this  progress  in  daily  life 
there  came,  at  the  same  time,  from  the  Phila- 
delphia clergy  a  protest  against  printing  their 
sermons  in  the  secular  press.  It  was  an  injustice 
to  them,  they  declared,  because  the  sermons  were 
not  always  fully  reported.  I  did  not  share  these 
opinions.  If  a  minister's  gospel  is  not  fit  for 
fifty  thousand  people,  then  it  is  not  fit  for  the 
few  hundred  members  of  his  congregation.  My 
own  sermons  were  being  published  in  the  secular 
press  then,  as  they  had  been  when  I  was  in 
Philadelphia. 

Almost  at  the  close  of  the  year  1878  the  loss  of 
the  S.S.  "Pomerania,"  in  collision  in  the  English 
Channel,  was  a  disaster  of  the  sea  that  I  denounced 
as  nothing  short  of  murder.  It  was  shown  at  the 
trial  that  there  was  no  fog  at  the  time,  that  the 
two  vessels  saw  each  other  for  ten  minutes  before 
the  collision.  If  such  gross  negligence  as  this 
was  possible,  I  advised  those  people  who  bought 
a  ticket  for  Europe  on  the  White  Star,  the 
Cunard,  the  Hamburg,  or  other  steamship  lines, 
to  secure  at  the  same  time  a  ticket  for  Heaven. 


90  THE   FIFTH   MILESTONE 

What  a  difference  in  the  ocean  ferry-boat  of 
to-day ! 

Scarcely  had  the  submarine  telegraph  closed 
this  chapter  of  sea  horror  than  it  clicked  the 
information  that  the  beautiful  Princess  Alice  had 
died  in  Germany.  Only  a  few  days  later,  in 
America,  we  were  in  mood  of  mourning  for 
Bayard  Taylor,  our  Minister  Plenipotentiary  to 
Germany.  In  the  death  of  Princess  Alice  we  felt 
chiefly  a  sympathy  for  Queen  Victoria,  who  had 
not  then,  and  never  did,  overcome  her  grief  at 
the  loss  of  Prince  Albert.  In  the  decease  of 
Bayard  Taylor  we  remembered  with  pride  that 
he  was  a  self-made  gentleman  of  a  school  for 
which  there  is  no  known  system  of  education. 
Regarded  as  a  dreamy,  unpractical  boy,  nothing 
much  was  ever  expected  of  him.  When  he  was 
seventeen  he  set  type  in  a  printing  office  in 
Westchester.  It  was  Bayard  Taylor  who  ex- 
ploded the  idea  that  only  the  rich  could  afford 
to  go  to  Europe,  when  on  less  than  a  thousand 
dollars  he  spent  two  years  amid  the  palaces  and 
temples,  telling  of  his  adventures  in  a  way  that 
contributed  classic  literature  to  our  book-shelves. 
He  worked  hard — wrote  thirty-five  books.  There 
is  genius  in  hard  work  alone.  I  have  often 
thought  that  women  pursue  more  of  it  than  men. 
They  work  night  and  day,  year  in  and  year  out, 
from  kitchen  to  parlour,  from  parlour  to  kitchen. 

There  was  some  strong  legislative  effort  made 
in  our  country  about  this  time  to  exclude  the 
Chinese.  I  opposed  this  legislation  with  all  the 
voice  and  ability  I  had,  because  I  felt  not  merely 
the  injustice  of  such  contradiction  of  all  our 
national  institutions,  but  I  saw  its  political  folly. 
I  saw  that  the  nation  that  would  be  the  most 
friendly  to  China,  and  could  get  on  the  inside 
track  of  her  commerce,  would  be  the  first  nation 


CHINESE   EXCLUSION  91 

of  the  world.  The  legislature  seemed  particu- 
larly angry  with  the  Chinese  immigrants  in  this 
country  because  they  would  not  allow  themselves 
to  be  buried  here.  They  were  angry  with  the 
Chinese  then  because  they  would  not  inter- 
marry. They  were  angry  with  the  Chinese 
because  they  invested  their  money  in  China. 
They  did  not  think  they  were  handsome  enough 
for  this  country.  We  even  wanted  a  monopoly  of 
good  looks  in  those  days. 

I  was  particularly  friendly  to  the  Chinese.  My 
brother,  John  Van  Nest  Talmage,  devoted  his  life 
to  them.  I  believed,  as  my  brother  did,  that  they 
were  a  great  nation. 

When  he  went,  my  last  brother  went.  Stunned 
was  I  until  I  staggered  through  the  corridors  of 
the  hotel  in  London,  England,  when  the  news 
came  that  John  was  dead.  If  I  should  say  all  that 
I  felt  I  would  declare  that  since  Paul  the  Apostle 
to  the  Gentiles  a  more  faithful  or  consecrated 
man  has  not  lifted  his  voice  in  the  dark  places  of 
heathenism.  I  said  it  while  he  was  alive,  and 
might  as  well  say  it  now  that  he  is  dead.  He  was 
the  hero  of  our  family.  He  did  not  go  to  China 
to  spend  his  days  because  no  one  in  America 
wanted  to  hear  him  preach.  At  the  time  of  his 
first  going  to  China  he  had  a  call  to  succeed  in 
Brooklyn,  N.Y.,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Broadhead,  the 
Chrysostom  of  the  American  pulpit,  a  call  at  a 
large  salary ;  and  there  would  have  been  nothing 
impossible  to  my  brother  in  the  way  of  religious 
work  or  Christian  achievement  had  he  tarried  in 
his  native  land.  But  nothing  could  detain  him 
from  the  work  to  which  God  called  him  long 
before  he  became  a  Christian. 

My  reason  for  writing  that  anomalous  state- 
ment is  that,  when  a  small  boy  in  Sabbath-school, 
he   read    a   library   book,   "  The   Life   of   Henry 


92  THE   FIFTH   MILESTONE 

Martin."  He  said  to  my  mother,  "  I  am  going  to 
be  a  missionary."  The  remark  at  the  time  made 
no  special  impression.  Years  after  that  passed 
on  before  his  conversion ;  but  when  the  grace  of 
God  appeared  to  him,  and  he  had  entered  his 
studies  for  the  Gospel  ministry,  he  said  one  day, 
"  Mother,  do  you  remember  that  years  ago  I 
said,  '  I  am  going  to  be  a  missionary  '  ?  "  She 
replied,  "  Yes,  I  remember  it."  "  Well,"  said  he, 
"  I  am  going  to  keep  my  promise."  How  well  he 
kept  it  millions  of  souls  on  earth  and  in  Heaven 
have  long  since  heard.  When  the  roll  of  martyrs 
is  called  before  the  throne,  the  name  of  John  Van 
Nest  Talmage  will  be  called.  He  worked  himself 
to  death  in  the  cause  of  the  world's  evangeli- 
sation. His  heart,  his  brain,  his  hand,  his  voice, 
his  muscles,  his  nerves  could  do  no  more.  He 
sleeps  in  the  cemetery  of  Somerville,  N.  J.,  so  near 
his  father  and  mother  that  he  will  face  them 
when  he  arises  in  the  resurrection  of  the  just, 
and,  amid  a  crowd  of  his  kindred  now  sleeping 
on  the  right  of  them  and  on  the  left  of  them, 
will  feel  the  thrill  of  the  trumpet  that  wakes 
the  dead. 

You  could  get  nothing  from  my  brother  at  all. 
Ask  him  a  question  to  evoke  what  he  had  done 
for  God  and  the  Church,  and  his  lips  were  as 
tightly  shut  as  though  they  had  never  been 
opened.  Indeed,  his  reticence  was  at  times 
something  remarkable.  I  took  him  to  see  Presi- 
dent Grant  at  Long  Branch,  and  though  they 
had  both  been  great  warriors,  the  one  fighting  the 
battles  of  the  Lord  and  the  other  the  battles  of 
his  country,  they  had  little  to  say,  and  there  was, 
I  thought  at  the  time,  more  silence  crowded 
together  than  I  ever  noticed  in  the  same  amount 
of  space  before. 

But  the  story  of  my  brother's  work  has  already 


MY   BROTHER'S   WORK  93 

been  told  in  the  Heavens  by  those  who,  through 
his  instrumentality,  have  already  reached  the  City 
of  Raptures.  However,  his  chief  work  is  yet  to 
come.  We  get  our  chronology  so  twisted  that 
we  come  to  believe  that  the  white  marble  of  the 
tomb  is  the  milestone  at  which  the  good  man  stops, 
when  it  is  only  a  milestone  on  a  journey,  the  most 
of  the  miles  of  which  are  yet  to  be  travelled. 
The  Chinese  Dictionary  which  my  brother  pre- 
pared during  more  than  two  decades  of  study;  the 
religious  literature  he  transferred  from  English 
into  Chinese  ;  the  hymns  he  wrote  for  others  to 
sing,  although  he  himself  could  not  sing  at  all  (he 
and  I  monopolising  the  musical  incapacity  of  a 
family  in  which  all  the  rest  could  sing  well)  ;  the 
missionary  stations  he  planted  ;  the  life  he  lived, 
will  widen  out  and  deepen  and  intensify  through 
all  time  and  all  eternity. 

Never  in  the  character  of  a  Chinaman  was  there 
the  trait  of  commercial  fraud  that  assailed  our 
American  cities  in  1879.  It  got  into  our  food 
finally — the  very  bread  we  ate  was  proven  to  be 
an  adulteration  of  impure  stuff.  What  an  ex- 
travagance of  imagination  had  crept  into  our 
daily  life !  We  pretended  even  to  eat  what  we 
knew  we  were  not  eating.  Except  for  the 
reminder  which  old  books  written  in  byegone 
simpler  days  gave  us,  we  should  have  insisted 
that  the  world  should  believe  us  if  we  said  black 
was  white.  Still,  among  us  there  were  some  who 
were  genuine,  but  they  seemed  to  be  passing 
away.  It  was  in  this  year  that  the  oldest  author 
in  America  died,  Richard  Henry  Dana.  He  was 
born  in  1788,  when  literature  in  this  country  was 
just  beginning.  His  death  stirred  the  tenderest 
emotions.  Authorship  was  a  new  thing  in 
America  when  Mr.  Dana  began  to  write,  and 
it    required    endurance    and    persistence.      The 


94  THE   FIFTH   MILESTONE 

atmosphere  was  chilling  to  literature  then,  there 
was  little  applause  for  poetic  or  literary  skill. 
There  were  no  encouragements  when  Washington 
Irving  wrote  as  "Knickerbocker,"  when  Richard 
Henry  Dana  wrote  "  The  Buccaneer,"  "  The 
Idle  Man,"  and  "  The  Dying  Raven."  There  was 
something  cracking  in  his  wit,  exalted  in  his 
culture.  He  was  so  gentle  in  his  conversation, 
so  pure  in  his  life,  it  was  hard  to  spare  him.  He 
seemed  like  a  man  who  had  never  been  forced 
into  the  battle  of  the  world,  he  was  so  unscarred 
and  hallowed. 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  our  Tabernacle 
in  Brooklyn  became  the  storm  centre  of  a  law- 
suit which  threatened  to  undermine  us.  It  was 
based  upon  a  theory,  a  technicality  of  law,  which 
declared  that  the  subscriptions  of  married  women 
were  not  legal  subscriptions.  Our  attorneys  were 
Mr.  Freeman  and  Judge  Tenney.  Theirs  was  a 
battle  for  God  and  the  Church.  There  were  only 
two  sides  to  the  case.  Those  against  the  Church 
and  those  with  the  Church.  In  the  preceding 
eight  years,  whether  against  fire  or  against  foe, 
the  Tabernacle  had  risen  to  a  higher  plane  of  useful 
Christian  work.  I  was  not  alarmed.  During  the 
two  weeks  of  persecution,  the  days  were  to  me 
days  of  the  most  complete  peace  I  had  felt  since  I 
entered  the  Christian  life.  Again  and  again  I 
remember  remarking  in  my  home,  to  my  family, 
what  a  supernatural  peace  was  upon  me.  My 
faith  was  in  God,  who  managed  my  life  and  the 
affairs  of  the  Church.  My  work  was  still  before  me, 
there  was  too  much  to  be  done  in  the  Tabernacle 
yet.  The  disapproval  of  our  methods  before  the 
Brooklyn  Presbytery  was  formulated  in  a  series 
of  charges  against  the  pastor.  I  was  told  my 
enthusiasm  was  sinful,  that  it  was  unorthodox 
for  me  to  be  so.     My  utterances  were  described 


PEOPLE  OF  BROOKLYN  TABERNACLE  95 

as  inaccurate.  My  editorial  work  was  offensively 
criticised.  The  Presbytery  listened  patiently, 
and  after  a  careful  consideration  dismissed  the 
charges.  Once  more  the  unjust  oppression  of 
enemies  had  seemed  to  extend  the  strength  and 
scope  of  the  Gospel.  A  few  days  later  my  con- 
gregation presented  me  with  a  token  of  confidence 
in  their  pastor.  I  was  so  happy  at  the  time  that 
I  was  ready  to  shake  hands  even  with  the  reporters 
who  had  abused  me.  How  kind  they  were,  how 
well  they  understood  me,  how  magnificently  they 
took  care  of  me,  my  people  of  the  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle  ! 


THE   SIXTH  MILESTONE 

1879—1881 

In  the  spring  of  1879  I  made  a  Gospel  tour  of 
England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland.  On  a  previous 
visit  I  had  given  a  series  of  private  lectures,  under 
the  management  of  Major  Pond,  and  I  had  been 
more  or  less  criticised  for  the  amount  of  money 
charged  the  people  to  hear  me.  As  I  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  prices  of  tickets  to  my 
lectures,  which  went  to  the  managers  who 
arranged  the  tour,  this  was  something  beyond 
my  control.  My  personal  arrangement  with 
Major  Pond  was  for  a  certain  fixed  sum.  They 
said  in  Europe  that  I  charged  too  much  to  be 
heard,  that  as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  I  should 
have  been  more  moderate.  If  the  management 
had  been  my  own  I  should  not  have  been  so 
greedy. 

Because  of  this  recollection  and  the  regret  it 
gave  me,  I  decided  to  make  another  tour  at  my 
own  expense,  and  preach  without  price  in  all 
the  places  I  had  previously  visited  as  a  lecturer. 
It  was  the  most  exhausting,  exciting,  remarkable 
demonstration  of  religious  enthusiasm  I  have 
ever  witnessed.  It  was  an  evangelistic  yearning 
that  could  not  be  repeated  in  another  life-time. 

The  entire  summer  was  a  round  of  Gospel 
meetings,  overflow  meetings,  open-air  meetings, 

96 


PREACHING   IN   BRITAIN  97 

a  succession  of  scenes  of  blessing.  From  the 
time  I  arrived  in  Liverpool,  where  that  same 
night  I  addressed  two  large  assemblages,  till  I 
got  through  after  a  monster  gathering  at  Edin- 
burgh, I  missed  but  three  Gospel  appointments, 
and  those  because  I  was  too  tired  to  stand  up. 
I  preached  ninety-eight  times  in  ninety-three 
days. 

With  nothing  but  Gospel  themes  I  confronted 
multitudes.  A  collection  was  always  taken  up 
at  these  gatherings  for  the  benefit  of  local  charities, 
feeble  churches,  orphan  asylums  and  other  institu- 
tions.    My  services  were  gratuitous. 

It  was  the  most  wonderful  summer  of  evan- 
gelical work  I  was  ever  privileged  to  enjoy.  There 
must  have  been  much  praying  for  me  and  my 
welfare,  or  no  mortal  could  have  got  through 
with  the  work.  In  every  city  I  went  to,  messages 
were  passed  into  my  ears  for  families  in 
America.  The  collection  taken  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Y.M.C.A.  at  Leeds  was  about  $6,000. 
During  this  visit  I  preached  in  Scenery  Chapel, 
London,  in  the  pulpit  where  such  consecrated 
souls  as  Rowland  Hill  and  Newman  Hall  and 
James  Sherman  had  preached.  I  visited  the 
"  Red  Horse  Hotel,"  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  where 
the  chair  and  table  used  by  Washington  Irving 
were  as  interesting  to  me  as  anything  in  Shake- 
speare's cottage.  The  church  where  the  poet  is 
buried  is  over  seven  hundred  years  old. 

The  most  interesting  place  around  London  to 
me  is  in  Chelsea,  where,  on  a  narrow  street,  I 
entered  the  house  of  Thomas  Carlyle.  This  great 
author  was  away  from  London  at  the  time. 
Entering  a  narrow  hall,  on  the  left  is  the  literary 
workshop,  where  some  of  the  strongest  thunder- 
bolts of  the  world's  literature  have  been  forged. 
In    the    room,    which    has    two    front    windows 


98  THE   SIXTH   MILESTONE 

shaded  from  the  prying  street  by  two  little  red 
calico  curtains,  is  a  lounge  that  looks  as  though 
it  had  been  made  by  an  author  unaccustomed  to 
saw  or  hammer.  On  the  wall  were  a  few  woodcuts 
in  plain  frames  or  pinned  on  the  wall.  Here  was  a 
photograph  of  Carlyle,  taken  one  day,  as  a 
member  of  his  family  told  me,  when  he  had  a 
violent  toothache  and  could  attend  to  nothing 
else,  and  yet  posterity  regards  it  as  a  favourite 
picture.  There  are  only  three  copies  of  this 
photograph  in  existence.  One  was  given  to 
Carlyle,  the  other  was  kept  by  the  photographer, 
and  the  third  belongs  to  me.  In  long  rough 
shelves  was  the  library  of  the  renowned  thinker. 
The  books  were  well  worn  with  reading.  Many 
of  them  were  books  I  never  heard  of.  American 
literature  was  almost  ignored;  they  were  chiefly 
books  written  by  Germans.  There  was  an  absence 
of  theological  books,  excepting  those  of  Thomas 
Chalmers,  whose  genius  he  worshipped.  The 
carpets  were  old  and  worn  and  faded.  He  wished 
them  to  be  so,  as  a  perpetual  protest  against  the 
world's  sham.  It  did  not  appeal  to  me  as  a  place 
of  inspiration  for  a  writer. 

I  returned  to  America  impressed  with  the 
over-crowding  of  the  British  Isles,  and  the  un- 
settled regions  of  our  own  country. 

"  Tell  the  United  States  we  want  to  send  her 
five  million  population  this  year,  and  five  million 
population  next  year,"  said  a  prominent  English- 
man to  me.  I  urged  a  mutual  arrangement  be- 
tween the  two  governments,  to  people  the  West 
with  these  populations.  Great  Britain  was  the 
workshop  of  the  world ;  we  needed  workers.  The 
trouble  in  the  United  States  at  this  time  was 
that  when  there  was  one  garment  needed  there 
were  three  people  anxious  to  manufacture  it,  and 
five  people  anxious  to  sell  it.     We  needed  to 


FREE   TRADE  99 

evoke  more  harvests  and  fruits  to  feed  the  popu- 
lations of  the  world,  and  more  flax  and  wool  for 
the  clothing.  The  cities  in  England  are  so  close 
together  that  there  is  a  cloud  from  smokestacks 
the  length  and  width  of  the  island.  The  Canon 
of  York  Minster  showed  me  how  the  stone  of  that 
great  cathedral  was  crumbling  under  the  chemical 
corrosion  of  the  atmosphere,  wafted  from  neigh- 
bouring factories. 

America  was  not  yet  discovered  then.  Those 
who  had  gone  West  twenty  years  back,  in  1859, 
were,  in  1879,  the  leading  men  of  Chicago,  and 
Omaha,  and  Denver,  and  Minneapolis,  and  Du- 
buque. When  I  left,  England  was  still  suffering 
from  the  effects  of  the  long-continued  panic  in 
America. 

Brooklyn  had  improved ;  still,  we  were  threatened 
with  a  tremendous  influx  of  people.  The  new 
bridge  at  Fulton  Ferry  across  the  East  River 
would  soon  be  opened.  It  looked  as  though 
there  was  to  be  another  bridge  at  South  Ferry, 
and  another  at  Peck  Slip  Ferry.  Montauk 
Point  was  to  be  purchased  by  some  enterprising 
Americans,  and  a  railroad  was  to  connect  it  with 
Brooklyn.  Steamers  from  Europe  were  to  find 
wharfage  in  some  of  the  bays  of  Long  Island, 
and  the  passage  across  the  Atlantic  reduced  to 
six  days  !  Passengers  six  days  out  of  Queenstown 
would  pass  into  Brooklyn.  This  was  the  Brooklyn 
to  be,  as  was  seen  in  its  prospectus,  its  evolution  in 
1879-80. 

Our  local  elections  had  resulted  in  a  better 
local  government.  With  the  exception  of  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  by  the  Board  of  Canvassers 
to  deprive  Frederick  A.  Schroeder  of  his  seat  in 
the  Senate,  because  some  of  the  voters  had  left  out 
the  middle  initial  in  his  name  in  their  ballots,  all 
was  better  with  us  politically  than  it  had  been. 


100  THE  SIXTH  MILESTONE 

To  the  credit  of  our  local  press,  the  two  political 
rivals,  the  Brooklyn  Eagle  and  the  Times,  united 
in  their  efforts  to  support  Senator  Schroeder's  claim. 

There  was  one  man  in  Brooklyn  at  this  time 
who  was  much  abused  and  caricatured  for  doing 
a  great  work — Professor  Bergh,  the  deliverer  of 
dumb  animals.  He  was  constantly  in  the  courts 
in  defence  of  a  lame  horse  or  a  stray  cat.  I 
supported  and  encouraged  him.  I  always  hoped 
that  he  would  induce  legislation  that  would  give 
the  poor  car-horses  of  Brooklyn  more  oats,  and 
fewer  passengers  to  haul  in  one  car.  He  was 
one  of  the  first  men  to  fight  earnestly  against 
vivisection — which  was  a  great  work. 

Just  after  we  had  settled  down  to  a  more  com- 
fortable and  hopeful  state  of  mind  Mr.  Thomas 
Kinsella,  one  of  our  prominent  citizens,  startled 
us  by  showing  us,  in  a  published  interview,  how 
little  we  had  any  right  to  feel  that  way.  He  told 
us  that  our  Brooklyn  debt  was  $17,000,000,  with 
a  tax  area  of  only  three  million  and  a  half  acres. 
It  was  disturbing.  But  we  had  prospects, 
energies.  We  had  to  depend  in  this  predicament 
upon  the  quickened  prosperity  of  our  property 
holders,  upon  future  examiners  to  be  scrupulous 
at  the  ballot  box,  on  the  increase  of  our  popula- 
tion, which  would  help  to  carry  our  burdens,  and 
on  the  revenue  from  our  great  bridge.  These  were 
local  affairs  of  interest  to  us  all,  but  in  December, 
1879,  we  had  a  more  serious  problem  of  our  own 
to  consider.  This  concerned  the  future  of  the 
new  Tabernacle. 

In  consequence  of  perpetual  and  long-continued 
outrages  committed  by  neighbouring  clergymen 
against  the  peace  of  our  church,  the  Board  of 
Trustees  of  the  Tabernacle  addressed  a  letter  to 
the  congregation  suggesting  our  withdrawal  from 
the  denomination.  I  regretted  this,  because  I  felt 


DR.  CROSBY  101 

that  the  time  would  soon  come  when  all  denomin- 
ations should  be  helpful  to  each  other.  There 
would  be  enough  people  in  Brooklyn,  I  was  sure, 
when  all  the  churches  could  be  crowded.  I 
positively  refused  to  believe  the  things  that  my 
fellow  ministers  said  about  me,  or  to  notice  them. 
I  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  Christian  outlook 
of  our  church.  I  urged  the  same  spirit  of  calm 
upon  my  church  neighbours,  by  example  and 
precept.  It  was  a  long  while  before  they  realised 
the  value  of  this  advice.  In  the  spring  of  1879 
my  friend  Dr.  Crosby,  pastor  of  the  Second 
Presbyterian  Church  at  the  corner  of  Clinton 
and  Fulton  Streets,  was  undergoing  an  ecclesi- 
astical trial,  and  an  enterprising  newsboy  invaded 
the  steps  of  the  church,  as  the  most  interested 
market  for  the  sale  of  the  last  news  about  the  trial. 
He  was  ignominiously  pushed  off  the  church  steps 
by  the  church  officers.  I  was  indignant  about  it. 
(I  saw  it  from  a  distance,  as  I  was  coming  down  the 
street.)  I  thought  it  was  a  row  between  Brooklyn 
ministers,  however,  and  turned  the  corner  to 
avoid  such  a  shocking  sight.  My  suspicions  were 
not  groundless,  because  there  was  even  then 
anything  but  brotherly  love  between  some  of  the 
churches  there. 

A  synodical  trial  by  the  Synod  of  Long  Island 
was  finally  held  at  Jamaica,  L.I.,  to  ascertain  if 
there  was  not  some  way  of  inducing  church  har- 
mony in  Brooklyn.  After  several  days  at  Jamaica, 
in  which  the  ministers  of  Long  Island  took  us 
ministers  of  Brooklyn  across  their  knees  and 
applied  the  ecclesiastical  slipper,  we  were  sent 
home  with  a  benediction.  A  lot  of  us  went 
down  there  looking  hungry,  and  they  sent  us 
back  all  fed  up.  Even  some  of  the  church 
elders  were  hungry  and  came  back  to  Brooklyn 
strengthened. 


102  THE   SIXTH   MILESTONE 

It  looked  for  awhile  after  this  |as  .though  all 
clerical  antagonisms  in  Brooklyn  would  expire. 
I  even  foresaw  a  time  coming  when  Brothers 
Speare,  Van  Dyke,  Crosby  and  Talmage  would 
sing  Moody  and  Sankey  hymns  together  out  of 
the  same  hymn-book. 

The  year  1880  began  with  an  outbreak  in 
Maine,  a  sort  of  miniature  revolution,  caused  by 
a  political  appointment  of  my  friend  Governor 
Garcelon  contrary  to  the  opinions  of  the  people 
of  his  State.  Garcelon  I  knew  personally,  and 
regarded  him  as  a  man  of  honour  and  pure  politi- 
cal motives,  whether  he  did  his  duty  or  not; 
whatever  he  did  he  believed  was  the  right  and 
conscientious  thing  to  do.  The  election  had  gone 
against  the  Democrats.  In  a  neat  address  Mr. 
Lincoln  Robinson,  Democrat,  handed  over  the 
keys  of  New  York  State  to  Mr.  Carroll,  the 
Republican  Governor.  Antagonists  though  they 
had  been  at  the  ballot-box,  the  surrender  was 
conducted  with  a  dignity  that  I  trust  will  always 
surround  the  gubernatorial  chair  of  the  State  of 
New  York,  once  graced  by  such  men  as  DeWitt 
Clinton,  Silas  Wright,  William  H.  Seward,  and 
John  A.  Dix. 

In  January,  1880,  Frank  Leslie,  the  pioneer  of 
pictorial  journalism  in  America,  died.  I  met  him 
only  once,  when  he  took  me  through  his  immense 
establishment.  I  was  impressed  with  him  then,  as 
a  man  of  much  elegance  of  manner  and  suavity 
of  feeling.  He  was  very  much  beloved  by  his 
employees,  which,  in  those  days  of  discord 
between  capital  and  labour,  was  a  distinction. 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  Parnell  in  New  York  was  an 
event  of  the  period.  We  knew  he  was  an  orator, 
and  we  were  anxious  to  hear  him.  There  was 
some  uncertainty  as  to  whether  he  came  to 
America  to  obtain  bayonets  to  stick  the  English 


CHARLES   STEWART  PARNELL    108 

with,  or  whether  he  came  for  bread  for  the 
starving  in  Ireland.  We  did  not  understand  the 
political  problem  between  England  and  Ireland 
so  well — but  we  did  understand  the  meaning  of 
a  loaf  of  bread.     Mr.  Parnell  was  welcome. 

The  failure  of  the  harvest  crops  in  Europe 
made  the  question  of  the  hour  at  the  beginning 
of  1880 — bread.  The  grain  speculator  appeared, 
with  his  greedy  web  spun  around  the  world. 
Europe  was  short  200,000,000  bushels  of  wheat. 
The  American  speculator  cornered  the  market, 
stacked  the  warehouses,  and  demanded  fifty  cents 
a  bushel.  Europe  was  compelled  to  retaliate,  by 
purchasing  grain  in  Russia,  British  India,  New 
Zealand,  South  America,  and  Australia.  In  one 
week  the  markets  of  the  American  North-west 
purchased  over  15,000,000  bushels,  of  which 
only  4,000,000  bushels  were  exported.  Mean- 
while the  cry  of  the  world's  hunger  grew  louder, 
and  the  bolts  on  the  grain  cribs  were  locked 
tighter  than  ever.  American  finances  could  have 
been  straightened  out  on  this  one  product,  except 
for  the  American  speculator,  who  demanded  more 
for  it  than  it  was  worth.  The  United  States  had 
a  surplus  of  18,000,000  bushels  of  grain  for  export, 
in  1880.  But  the  kings  of  the  wheat  market  said 
to  Europe,  "  Bow  down  before  us,  and  starve." 

Suddenly  we  in  America  were  surprised  to 
learn  that  flour  in  London  was  two  dollars 
cheaper  a  barrel  than  it  was  in  New  York.  Our 
grain  blockade  of  the  world  was  reacting  upon 
us.  Lying  idle  at  the  wharves  of  New  York  and 
Brooklyn  were  102  ships,  439  barques,  87  brigs, 
178  schooners,  and  47  steamers.  Six  or  seven 
hundred  of  these  vessels  were  waiting  for 
cargoes.  The  gates  of  our  harbour  were  closed 
in  the  grip  of  the  grain  gambler.  The  thrift  of 
the   speculator  was  the  menace  of  our  national 


104  THE   SIXTH  MILESTONE 

prosperity.  The  octopus  of  speculative  ugliness 
was  growing  to  its  full  size,  and  threatened  to 
smother  us  utterly.  There  was  a  "  corner  "  on 
everything. 

We  were  busy  trying  to  pick  out  our  next 
President.  There  was  great  agitation  over  the 
Republican  candidates :  Grant,  Blaine,  Cameron, 
Conkling,  Sherman.  Greatness  in  a  man  is 
sometimes  a  hindrance  to  the  Presidency.  Such 
was  the  case  with  Daniel  Webster,  Henry  Clay, 
Thomas  H.  Benton,  and  William  C.  Preston. 
We  were  only  on  the  edge  of  the  whirlpool  of  a 
presidential  election.  In  England  the  election 
storm  was  just  beginning.  The  first  thunderbolt 
was  the  sudden  dissolution  of  Parliament  by 
Lord  Beaconsfield.  The  two  mightiest  men  in 
England  then  were  antagonists,  Disraeli  and 
Gladstone. 

What  a  magnificent  body  of  men  are  those  Mem- 
bers of  Parliament.  They  meet  and  go  about 
without  the  ostentation  of  some  of  our  men  in 
Congress.  Men  of  great  position  in  England  are 
born  to  it ;  they  are  not  so  afraid  of  losing  it  as 
our  celebrated  Republicans  and  Democrats.  Even 
the  man  who  comes  up  into  political  power  from 
the  masses  in  England  is  more  likely  to  hold  his 
position  than  if  he  had  triumphed  in  American 
politics. 

In  the  spring  and  summer  of  1880  I  took  a 
long  and  exhaustive  trip  across  our  continent, 
and  completely  lost  the  common  dread  of  emi- 
gration that  was  then  being  talked  about.  There 
was  room  enough  for  fifty  new  nations  between 
Omaha  and  Cheyenne,  room  for  more  still  between 
Cheyenne  and  Ogden,  from  Salt  Lake  City  to 
Sacramento. 

An  unpretentious  youth,  Carey  by  name,  whom 
I  had  known  in  Philadelphia,  went  West  in  '67. 


LEADVILLE  105 

I  found  him  in  Cheyenne  a  leading  citizen.  He 
had  been  District  Attorney,  then  judge  of  one  of 
the  courts,  owned  a  city  block,  a  cattle  ranch, 
and  was  worth  about  $500,000.  There  wasn't 
room  enough  for  him  in  Philadelphia.  Senator 
Hill  of  Colorado  told  me,  while  in  Denver,  about  a 
man  who  came  out  there  from  the  East  to  be  a 
miner.  He  began  digging  under  a  tree  because  it 
was  shady.  ^People  passed  by  and  laughed  at 
him.  He  kept  on  digging.  After  a  while  he  sent 
a  waggon  load  of  the  dust  to  be  assayed,  and  there 
was  $9,000  worth  of  metal  in  it.  He  retired  with  a 
fortune. 

A  man  with  $3,000  and  good  health  could  have 
gone  West  in  1880,  invested  it  in  cattle,  and  made 
a  fortune.  San  Francisco  was  only  forty-five 
years  old  then,  Denver  thirty-five,  Leadville 
sixteen,  Kansas  City  thirty-five.  They  looked 
a  hundred  at  least.  Leadville  was  then  a  place  of 
palatial  hotels,  elegant  churches,  boulevards  and 
streets.  The  West  was  just  aching  to  show 
how  fast  it  could  build  cities.  Leadville  was 
the  most  lied  about.  It  was  reported  that  I 
explored  Leadville  till  long  after  midnight,  look- 
ing at  its  wickedness.  I  didn't.  All  the  ex- 
ploring I  did  in  Leadville  was  in  about  six 
minutes,  from  the  wide  open  doors  of  the  gam- 
bling houses  on  two  of  the  main  streets;  but  the 
next  day  it  was  telegraphed  all  over  the  United 
States.  There  were  more  telephones  in  Leadville 
in  1880  than  in  any  other  city  in  the  United 
States,  to  its  population.  Some  of  the  best 
people  of  Brooklyn  and  New  York  lived  there. 
The  newspaper  correspondents  lost  money  in  the 
gambling  houses  there,  and  so  they  didn't  like 
Leadville,  and  told  the  world  it  was  a  bad  place, 
which  was  a  misrepresentation.  It  is  a  well  known 
law  of  human  nature  that  a  man  usually  hates  a 


106  THE   SIXTH  MILESTONE 

/ 

place  where  he  did  not  behave  well.  I  found 
perfect  order  there,  to  my  surprise.  There  was  a 
vigilance  committee  in  Leadville  composed  of 
bankers  and  merchants.  It  was  their  business 
to  give  a  too  cumbrous  law  a  boost.  The  week 
before  I  got  to  Leadville  this  committee  hanged 
two  men.  The  next  day  eighty  scoundrels  took 
the  hint  and  left  Leadville.  A  great  institution 
was  the  vigilance  committee  of  those  early 
Western  days.  They  saved  San  Francisco,  and 
Cheyenne,  and  Leadville.  I  wish  they  had  been 
in  Brooklyn  when  I  was  there.  The  West  was  not 
slow  to  assimilate  the  elegancies  of  life  either. 
There  were  beautiful  picture  galleries  in  Omaha, 
and  Denver,  and  Sacramento,  and  San  Francisco. 
There  was  more  elaboration  and  advancement  of 
dress  in  the  West  than  there  was  in  the  East  in 
1880.  The  cravats  of  the  young  men  in  Cheyenne 
were  quite  as  surprising,  and  the  young  ladies  of 
Cheyenne  went  down  the  street  with  the  elbow 
wabble,  then  fashionable  in  New  York.  San 
Francisco  was  Chicago  intensified,  and  yet  then 
it  was  a  mere  boy  of  a  city,  living  in  a  garden  of 
Eden,  called  California.  On  my  return  came 
Mr.  Garfield's  election.  It  was  quietly  and 
peaceably  effected,  but  there  followed  that  ex- 
posure of  political  outrages  concerning  his  elec- 
tion, the  Morey  forgeries.  I  hoped  then  that  this 
villainy  would  split  the  Republican  and  Demo- 
cratic parties  into  new  fields,  that  it  would  spilt 
the  North  and  the  South  into  a  different  sectional 
feeling.  I  hoped  that  there  would  be  a  complete 
upheaval,  a  renewed  and  cleaner  political  system 
as  a  consequence.  But  the  reform  movement  is 
always  slower  than  any  other. 

I  remember  the  harsh  things  that  were  said  in 
our  denomination  of  Lucretia  Mott,  the  quakeress, 
the  reformer,  the  world-renowned  woman  preacher 


LUCRETIA   MOTT  107 

of  the  day.  She  was  well  nigh  as  old  as  the  nation, 
eighty-eight  years  old,  when  she  died.  Her  voice 
has  never  died  in  the  plain  meeting-houses  of 
this  country  and  England.  I  don't  know  that 
she  was  always  right,  but  she  always  meant  to  be 
right.  In  Philadelphia,  where  she  preached,  I 
lived  among  people  for  years  who  could  not  men- 
tion her  name  without  tears  of  gratitude  for  what 
she  had  done  for  them.  There  was  great  opposi- 
tion to  her  because  she  was  the  first  woman 
preacher,  but  all  who  heard  her  speak  knew  she 
had  a  divine  right  of  utterance. 

In  November,  1880,  Disraeli's  great  novel, 
"  Endymion "  was  published  by  an  American 
firm,  Appleton  &  Co.,  a  London  publisher  pay- 
ing the  author  the  largest  cash  price  ever  paid 
for  a  manuscript  up  to  that  time — $50,000. 
Noah  Webster  made  that  much  in  royalties  on 
his  spelling  book,  but  less  on  one  of  the  greatest 
works  given  to  the  human  race,  his  dictionary. 
There  was  a  great  literary  impulse  in  American 
life,  inspired  by  such  American  publishing  houses 
as  Appleton's,  the  Harper  Bros.,  the  Dodds,  the 
Randolphs,  and  the  Scribners.  It  was  the 
brightest  moment  in  American  literature;  far 
brighter  than  the  day  Victor  Hugo,  in  youth,  long 
anxious  to  enter  the  French  Academy,  applied  to 
Callard  for  his  vote.  He  pretended  never  to  have 
heard  of  him.  "  Will  you  accept  a  copy  of  my 
books  ?  "  asked  Victor  Hugo.  "  No  thank  you," 
replied  the  other  ;  "  I  never  read  new  books." 
Riley  offered  to  sell  his  "Universal  Philosophy"  for 
$500.  The  offer  was  refused.  Great  and  wise  authors 
have  often  been  without  food  and  shelter.  Some- 
times governments  helped  them,  as  when  President 
Pierce  appointed  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  to  office, 
and  Locke  was  made  Commissioner  of  Appeals, 
and  Steele  State  Commissioner  of  Stamps  by  the 


108  THE   SIXTH  MILESTONE 

British  Government.  Oliver  Goldsmith  said  : 
"  I  have  been  years  struggling  with  a  wretched 
being,  with  all  that  contempt  which  indigence 
brings  with  it,  with  all  those  strong  passions 
which  make  contempt  insupportable."  Mr. 
Payne,  the  author  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  had 
no  home,  and  was  inspired  to  the  writing  of  his 
immortal  song  by  a  walk  through  the  streets 
one  slushy  night,  and  hearing  music  and  laughter 
inside  a  comfortable  dwelling.  The  world- 
renowned  Sheridan  said:  "Mrs.  Sheridan  and  I 
were  often  obliged  to  keep  writing  for  our  daily 
shoulder  of  mutton;  otherwise  we  should  have 
had  no  dinner."  Mitford,  while  he  was  writing 
his  most  celebrated  book,  lived  in  the  fields, 
making  his  bed  of  grass  and  nettles,  while  two- 
pennyworth  of  bread  and  cheese  with  an  onion 
was  his  daily  food.  I  know  of  no  more  refreshing 
reading  than  the  books  of  William  Hazlitt.  I 
take  down  from  my  shelf  one  of  his  many  volumes, 
and  I  know  not  when  to  stop  reading.  So  fresh 
and  yet  so  old!  But  through  all  the  volumes 
there  comes  a  melancholy,  accounted  for  by  the 
fact  that  he  had  an  awful  struggle  for  bread.  On 
his  dying  couch  he  had  a  friend  write  for  him  the 
following  letter  to  Francis  Jeffrey  : — 

"  Dear  Sir, — I  am  at  the  last  gasp.  Please 
send  me  a  hundred  pounds. — Yours  truly, 

46  William  Hazlitt." 

The  money  arrived  the  day  after  his  death. 
Poor  fellow!  I  wish  he  had  during  his  lifetime 
some  of  the  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars  that  have 
since  been  paid  in  purchase  of  his  books.  He 
said  on  one  occasion  to  a  friend  :  "I  have  carried 
a  volcano  in  my  bosom  up  and  down  Paternoster 
Row  for  a  good  two  hours  and  a  half.     Can  you 


AUTHORSHIP  AND  POVERTY   109 

lend  me  a  shilling  ?  I  have  been  without  food 
these  two  days."  My  readers,  to-day  the  struggle 
of  a  good  many  literary  people  goes  on.  To  be 
editor  of  a  newspaper  as  I  have  been,  and  see  the 
number  of  unavailable  manuscripts  that  come  in, 
crying  out  for  five  dollars,  or  anything  to  appease 
hunger  and  pay  rent  and  get  fuel !  Oh,  it  is  heart- 
breaking !  After  you  have  given  all  the  money 
you  can  spare  you  will  come  out  of  your  editorial 
rooms  crying. 

Disraeli  was  seventy-five  when  "  Endymion  " 
was  published.  Disraeli's  "Endymion"  came  at 
a  time  when  books  in  America  were  greater  than 
they  ever  were  before  or  have  been  since.  A 
flood  of  magazines  came  afterwards,  and  swamped 
them.  Before  this  time  new  books  were  rarely 
made.  Rich  men  began  to  endow  them.  It  was 
a  glorious  way  of  spending  money.  Men  sometimes 
give  their  money  away  because  they  have  to  give 
it  up  anyhow.  Such  men  rarely  give  it  to  book- 
building. 

In  January,  1881,  Mr.  George  L.  Seavey,  a 
prominent  Brooklyn  man  at  that  time,  gave 
$50,000  to  the  library  of  the  Historical  Society 
of  New  York.  Attending  a  reception  one  night 
in  Brooklyn,  I  was  shown  his  check,  made  out  for 
that  purpose.  It  was  a  great  gift,  one  of  the  first 
given  for  the  intellectual  food  of  future  book- 
worms. 

Most  of  the  rich  men  of  this  time  were  devoting 
their  means  to  making  Senators.  The  legislatures 
were  manufacturing  a  new  brand,  and  turning 
them  out  made  to  order.  Many  of  us  were  sur- 
prised at  how  little  timber,  and  what  poor  quality, 
was  needed  to  make  a  Senator  in  1881.  The  nation 
used  to  make  them  out  of  stout,  tall  oaks.  Many 
of  those  new  ones  were  made  of  willow,  and  others 
out  of  crooked  sticks.    In  most  cases  the  strong 


110  THE   SIXTH  MILESTONE 

men  defeated  each  other,  and  weak  substitutes 
were  put  in.  The  forthcoming  Congress  was  to 
be  one  of  commonplace  men.  The  strong  men 
had  to  stay  at  home,  and  the  accidents  took  their 
places  in  the  government.  Still  there  were  leaders, 
North  and  South. 

My  old  friend  Senator  Brown  of  Georgia  was 
one  of  the  leaders  of  the  South.  He  spoke 
vehemently  in  Congress  in  the  cause  of  education. 
Only  a  few  months  before  he  had  given,  out  of 
his  private  purse,  forty  thousand  dollars  to  a 
Baptist  college.  He  was  a  man  who  talked  and 
urged  a  hearty  union  of  feeling  between  the 
North  and  the  South.  He  always  hoped  to 
abolish  sectional  feeling  by  one  grand  movement 
for  the  financial,  educational,  and  moral  welfare 
of  the  Nation.  It  was  my  urgent  wish  that 
President  Garfield  should  invite  Senator  Brown  to  a 
place  in  his  Cabinet,  although  the  Senator  would 
probably  have  refused  the  honour,  for  there  was 
no  better  place  to  serve  the  American  people  than 
in  the  American  Senate. 

During  the  first  week  in  February,  1881,  the 
world  hovered  over  the  death-bed  of  Thomas 
Carlyle.  He  was  the  great  enemy  of  all  sorts  of 
cant,  philosophical  or  religious.  He  was  for  half 
a  century  the  great  literary  iconoclast.  Daily 
bulletins  of  the  sick-bed  were  published  world- 
wide. There  was  no  easy  chair  in  his  study,  no 
soft  divans.  It  was  just  a  place  to  work,  and  to 
stay  at  work.  I  once  saw  a  private  letter,  written 
by  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Chalmers.  The  first  part 
of  it  was  devoted  to  a  eulogy  of  Chalmers,  the 
latter  part  descriptive  of  his  own  religious  doubts. 
He  never  wrote  anything  finer.  It  was  beautiful, 
grand,  glorious,  melancholy. 

Thomas  Carlyle  started  with  the  idea  that  the 
intellect  was  all,  the  body  nothing  but  an  adjunct, 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  111 

an  appendage.  He  would  spur  the  intellect  to 
costly  energies,  and  send  the  body  supperless 
to  bed.  After  years  of  doubts  and  fears  I  learned 
that  towards  the  end  he  returned  to  the  sim- 
plicities of  the  Gospel. 

While  this  great  thinker  of  the  whole  of  life  was 
sinking  into  his  last  earthly  sleep,  the  men  in  the 
parliament  of  his  nation  were  squabbling  about 
future  ambitions.  Thirty-five  Irish  members 
were  forcibly  ejected.  Neither  Beaconsfield  nor 
Gladstone  could  solve  the  Irish  question.  Nor 
do  I  believe  it  will  ever  be  solved  to  the  satis- 
faction of  Ireland.  But  a  greater  calamity  than 
those  came  upon  us;  in  the  summer  of  this  year 
President  Garfield  was  assassinated  in  Washington. 


THE  SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

1881—1884 

On  July  2,  1881,  an  attempt  was  made  to 
assassinate  President  Garfield,  at  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Station,  Washington,  where  he  was  about 
to  board  a  train.  I  heard  the  news  first  on  the 
railroad  train  at  Williamstown,  Mass.,  where  the 
President  was  expected  in  three  or  four  days. 

"  Absurd,  impossible,"  I  said.  Why  should 
anyone  want  to  kill  him  ?  He  had  nothing  but 
that  which  he  had  earned  with  his  own  brain  and 
hand.  He  had  fought  his  own  way  up  from  country 
home  to  college  hall,  and  from  college  hall  to 
the  House  of  Representatives,  and  from  House  of 
Representatives  to  the  Senate  Chamber,  and  from 
the  Senate  Chamber  to  the  Presidential  chair. 
Why  should  anyone  want  to  kill  him  ?  He  was 
not  a  despot  who  had  been  treading  on  the  rights 
of  the  people.  There  was  nothing  of  the  Nero 
or  the  Robespierre  in  him.  He  had  wronged  no 
man.  He  was  free  and  happy  himself,  and 
wanted  all  the  world  free  and  happy.  Why 
should  anyone  want  to  kill  him  ?  He  had  a 
family  to  shepherd  and  educate,  a  noble  wife  and 
a  group  of  little  children  leaning  on  his  arm  and 
holding  his  hand,  and  who  needed  him  for  many 
years  to  come. 

Only  a  few  days  before,  I  had  paid  him  a  visit. 


PRESIDENT  GARFIELD'S  INFLUENCE  113 

He  was  a  bitter  antagonist  of  Mormonism,  and 
I  was  in  deep  sympathy  with  his  Christian  en- 
deavours in  this  respect.  I  never  saw  a  more 
anxious  or  perturbed  countenance  than  James  A. 
Garfield's,  the  last  time  I  met  him.  It  seemed  a 
great  relief  to  him  to  turn  to  talk  to  my  child, 
who  was  with  me.  He  had  suffered  enough  abuse 
in  his  political  campaign  to  suffice  for  one  life- 
time. He  was  then  facing  three  or  four  years  of 
insult  and  contumely  greater  than  any  that  had 
been  heaped  upon  his  predecessors.  He  had 
proposed  greater  reforms,  and  by  so  much  he  was 
threatened  to  endure  worse  outrages.  His  term 
of  office  was  just  six  months,  but  he  accomplished 
what  forty  years  of  his  predecessors  had  failed 
to  do — the  complete  and  eternal  pacification  of 
the  North  and  the  South.  There  were  more  public 
meetings  of  sympathy  for  him,  at  this  time,  in  the 
South  than  there  were  in  the  North.  His  death- 
bed in  eight  weeks  did  more  for  the  sisterhood 
of  States  than  if  he  had  lived  eight  years — two 
terms  of  the  Presidency.  His  cabinet  followed 
the  reform  spirit  of  his  leadership.  Postmaster 
General  James  made  his  department  illustrious  by 
spreading  consternation  among  the  scoundrels  of 
the  Star  Route,  saving  the  country  millions  of 
dollars.  Secretary  Windom  wrought  what  the 
bankers  and  merchants  called  a  financial  miracle. 
Robert  Lincoln,  the  son  of  another  martyred 
President,  was  Secretary  of  War. 

Guiteau  was  no  more  crazy  than  thousands  of 
other  place-hunters.  He  had  been  refused  an 
office,  and  he  was  full  of  unmingled  and  burning 
revenge.  There  was  nothing  else  the  matter 
with  him.  It  was  just  this  :  "  You  haven't  given 
me  what  I  want ;  now  I'll  kill  you."  For  months 
after  each  presidential  inauguration  the  hotels 
of    Washington    are    roosts  for   these    buzzards. 


114  THE   SEVENTH   MILESTONE 

They  are  the  crawling  vermin  of  this  nation. 
Guiteau  was  no  rarity.  There  were  hundreds  of 
Guiteaus  in  Washington  after  the  inauguration, 
except  that  they  had  not  the  courage  to  shoot. 
I  saw  them  some  two  months  or  six  weeks 
after.  They  were  mad  enough  to  do  it.  I  saw  it 
in  their  eyes. 

They  killed  two  other  Presidents,  William 
Henry  Harrison  and  Zachary  Taylor.  I  know  the 
physicians  called  the  disease  congestion  of  the 
lungs  or  liver,  but  the  plain  truth  was  that 
they  were  worried  to  death  ;  they  were  trampled 
out  of  life  by  place-hunters.  Three  Presidents 
sacrificed  to  this  one  demon  are  enough.  I  urged 
Congress  at  the  next  session  to  start  a  work  of 
presidential  emancipation.  Four  Presidents  have 
recommended  civil  service  reform,  and  it  has 
amounted  to  little  or  nothing.  But  this  assassina- 
tion I  hoped  would  compel  speedy  and  decisive 
action. 

James  A.  Garfield  was  prepared  for  eternity. 
He  often  preached  the  Gospel.  "  I  heard  him 
preach,  he  preached  for  me  in  my  pulpit,"  a 
minister  told  me.  He  preached  once  in  Wall 
Street  to  an  excited  throng,  after  Lincoln  was 
shot.  He  preached  to  the  wounded  soldiers  at 
Chickamauga.  He  preached  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  in  speeches  of  great  nobility.  When  a 
college  boy,  camped  on  the  mountains,  he  read 
the  Scriptures  aloud  to  his  companions.  After 
he  was  shot,  he  declared  that  he  trusted  all  in 
the  Lord's  hand — was  ready  to  live  or  die. 

"  If  the  President  die,  what  of  his  successor  ?  ': 
was  the  great  question  of  the  hour.  I  did  not 
know  Mr.  Arthur  at  that  time,  but  I  prophesied 
that  Mr.  Garfield's  policies  would  be  carried  out 
by  his  successor. 

I  consider  President  Garfield  was  a  man  with 


PRESIDENT   ARTHUR  115 

the  most  brilliant  mind  who  ever  occupied  the 
White  House.  He  had  strong  health,  a  splendid 
physique,  a  fine  intellect.  If  Guiteau's  bullet 
had  killed  the  President  instantly,  there  would 
have  been  a  revolution  in  this  country. 

He  lingered  amid  the  prayers  of  the  nation, 
surrounded  by  seven  of  the  greatest  surgeons 
and  physicians  of  the  hour.  Then  he  passed  on. 
His  son  was  preparing  a  scrap-book  of  all  the 
kind  things  that  had  been  said  about  his  father, 
to  show  him  when  he  recovered.  That  was  a 
tender  forethought  of  one  who  knew  how  unjustly 
he  had  suffered  the  slanders  of  his  enemies.  There 
was  much  talk  about  presidential  inability,  and 
in  the  midst  of  this  public  bickering  Chester  A. 
Arthur  became  president.  He  took  office,  amid 
severe  criticism.  I  urged  the  appointment  of 
Frederick  T.  Frelinghuysen  to  the  President's 
Cabinet,  feeling  that  Mr.  Arthur  would  have  in 
this  distinguished  son  of  New  Jersey,  a  devout, 
evangelical,  Christian  adviser.  In  October  I 
paid  a  visit  to  Mr.  Garfield's  home  in  Mentor, 
Ohio.  On  the  hat-rack  in  the  hall  was  his  hat, 
where  he  had  left  it,  when  the  previous  March 
he  left  for  his  inauguration  in  Washington.  I 
left  that  bereaved  household  with  a  feeling  that  a 
full  explanation  of  this  event  must  be  adjourned 
to  the  next  state  of  my  existence. 

The  new  President  was  gradually  becoming,  on 
all  sides,  the  bright  hope  of  our  national  future. 
In  after  years  I  learned  to  know  him  and  admire 
him. 

In  the  period  of  transition  that  followed  the 
President's  assassination  we  lost  other  good  men. 

We  lost  Senator  Burnside  of  Rhode  Island,  at 
one  time  commander  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
and  three  times  Governor  of  his  State.  I  met 
him  at  a  reception  given  in  the  home  of  my  friend 


116         THE   SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

Judge  Hilton,  in  Woodlawn,  at  Saratoga  Springs. 
He  had  an  imperial  presence,  coupled  with  the 
utterance  of  a  child.  The  Senator  stood  for 
purity  in  politics.  No  one  ever  bought  him,  or 
tried  to  buy  him.  He  held  no  stock  in  the  Credit 
Mobilier.  He  shook  hands  with  none  of  the 
schemes  that  appealed  to  Congress  to  fleece  the 
people.     He  died  towards  the  close  of  1881. 

A  man  of  greater  celebrity,  of  an  entirely 
different  quality,  who  had  passed  on,  was  about 
this  time  to  be  honoured  with  an  effigy  in  West- 
minster Abbey — Dean  Stanley.  I  still  remember 
keenly  the  afternoon  I  met  him  in  the  Deanery 
adjoining  the  abbey.  There  was  not  much  of  the 
physical  in  his  appearance.  His  mind  and  soul 
seemed  to  have  more  than  a  fair  share  of  his 
physical  territory.  He  had  only  just  enough 
body  to  detain  the  soul  awhile  on  earth. 

And  then  we  lost  Samuel  B.  Stewart.  The 
most  of  Brooklyn  knew  him — the  best  part  of 
Brooklyn  knew  him.  I  knew  him  long  before  I 
ever  came  to  Brooklyn.  He  taught  me  to  read  in 
the  village  school.  His  parents  and  mine  were 
buried  in  the  same  place.  A  few  weeks  later,  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Bellows  of  New  York  went.  I  do  not 
believe  that  the  great  work  done  by  this  good  man 
was  ever  written.  It  was  during  that  long  agony 
when  the  war  hospitals  were  crowded  with  the 
sick,  the  wounded,  and  the  dying.  He  enlisted 
his  voice  and  his  pen  and  his  fortune  to  alleviate 
their  suffering.  I  was  on  the  field  as  a  chaplain 
for  a  very  little  while,  and  a  little  while  looking 
after  the  sick  in  Philadelphia,  and  I  noticed  that 
the  Sanitary  Commission,  of  which  Dr.  Bellows  was 
the  presiding  spirit,  was  constantly  busy  with 
ambulances,  cordials,  nurses,  necessaries  and 
supplies.  Many  a  dying  soldier  was  helped  by 
the  mercy  of  this  good  man's  energies,  and  many 


DR.  BELLOWS  lit 

a  farewell  message  was  forwarded  home.  The 
civilians  who  served  the  humanitarian  causes  of 
the  war,  like  Dr.  Bellows,  have  not  received  the 
recognition  they  should.  Only  the  military  men 
have  been  honoured  with  public  office. 

The  chief  menace  of  the  first  year  of  President 
Arthur's  administration  was  the  danger  of  a 
policy  to  interfere  in  foreign  affairs,  and  the  danger 
of  extravagance  in  Washington,  due  to  innumer- 
able appropriation  bills.  There  was  a  war  between 
Chili  and  Peru,  and  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment offered  to  mediate  for  Chili.  It  was  a 
pitiable  interference  with  private  rights,  and  I 
regretted  this  indication  of  an  unnecessary  foreign 
policy  in  this  country.  In  addition  to  this,  there 
were  enough  appropriation  bills  in  Washington  to 
swamp  the  nation  financially.  I  had  stood  for 
so  many  years  in  places  where  I  could  see  clearly 
the  ungodly  affairs  of  political  life  in  my  own 
country,  that  the  progress  of  politics  became  to 
me  a  hopeless  thing. 

The  political  nominations  of  1882  involved  no 
great  principles.  In  New  York  State  this  was 
significant,  because  it  brought  before  the  nation 
Mr.  Grover  Cleveland  as  a  candidate  for  Governor 
against  Mr.  Folger.  The  general  opinion  of  these 
two  men  in  the  unbiassed  public  mind  was 
excellent.  They  were  men  of  talent  and  integrity. 
They  were  not  merely  actors  in  the  political  play. 
I  have  buried  professional  politicians,  and  the 
most  of  them  made  a  very  bad  funeral  for  a 
Christian  minister  to  speak  at.  I  always  wanted, 
at  such  a  time,  an  Episcopal  prayer  book,  which  is 
made  for  all  cases,  and  may  not  be  taken  either  as 
invidious  or  too  assuring. 

There  was  another  contest,  non-political,  that 
interested  the  nation  in  1882.  It  was  the 
Sullivan-Ryan     prize-fight.      I     had    no    great 


118        THE   SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

objection  to  find  with  it,  as  did  so  many  other 
ministers.  It  suggested  a  far  better  symbol  of 
arbitration  between  two  differing  opinions  than 
war.  If  Mr.  Disraeli  had  gone  out  and  met  a 
distinguished  Zulu  on  the  field  of  English  battle, 
and  fought  their  national  troubles  out,  as  Sullivan 
and  Ryan  did,  what  a  saving  of  life  and  money  ! 
How  many  lives  could  have  been  saved  if 
Napoleon  and  Wellington,  orMoltke  and  McMahon 
had  emulated  the  spirit  of  the  Sullivan-Ryan 
prize  fight  !  I  saw  no  reasonable  cause  why  the 
law  should  interfere  between  two  men  who  desired 
to  pound  one  another  in  public  ;  I  stood  alone 
almost  among  my  brethren  in  this  conclusion. 

The  persecution  of  the  Jews  in  Russia,  which 
came  to  us  at  this  time  with  all  its  details  of  cruelty 
and  horror,  was  the  beginning  of  an  important 
chapter  in  American  history.  Dr.  Adler,  in 
London,  had  appealed  for  a  million  pounds  to 
transport  the  Jews  who  were  driven  out  of  Russia 
to  the  United  States.  It  seemed  more  important 
that  civilisation  should  unite  in  an  effort  to  secure 
protection  for  them  in  their  own  homes,  than  com- 
pel them  to  obey  the  will  of  Russia.  This  was  no 
Christian  remedy.  We  might  as  well  abuse  the 
Jews  in  America,  and  then  take  up  a  collection  to 
send  them  to  England  or  Australia.  The  Jews 
were  entitled  to  their  own  rights  of  property  and 
personal  liberty  and  religion,  whether  they  lived 
in  New  York,  or  Brooklyn,  or  London,  or  Paris,  or 
Warsaw,  or  Moscow,  or  St.  Petersburg.  And  yet 
we  were  constantly  hearing  of  the  friendly  feeling 
between  Russia  and  the  United  States. 

In  after  years  I  was  privileged  personally  to 
address  the  Czar  and  his  family,  in  a  private 
audience,  and  questions  of  the  Russian  problem 
were  discussed;  but  the  Jews  flocked  to  America, 
and  we  welcomed  them,  and  they  learned  to  be 


HENRY   WARD   BEECHER  119 

Americans  very  rapidly.  Their  immigration  to 
this  country  was  a  matter  of  religious  conscience, 
in  which  Russia  had  no  interest. 

A  man's  religious  comvictions  are  most  im- 
portant. I  remember  in  October,  1882,  what 
criticism  and  abuse  there  was  of  my  friend  Henry 
Ward  Beecher,  when  he  decided  to  resign  from  the 
religious  associations  of  which  he  was  a  member. 
I  was  asked  by  members  of  the  press  to  give  my 
opinion,  but  I  was  out  when  they  called.  Mr. 
Beecher  was  right.  He  was  a  man  of  courage  and 
of  heart.  I  shall  never  forget  the  encouragement 
and  goodwill  he  extended  to  me,  when  I  first  came 
to  Brooklyn  in  1869  and  took  charge  of  a  broken- 
down  church.  Mr.  Beecher  did  just  as  I  would 
have  done  under  the  same  circumstances.  I 
could  not  nor  would  stay  in  the  denomination 
to  which  I  belonged  any  longer  than  it  would 
take  me  to  write  my  resignation,  if  I  disbelieved 
its  doctrines.  Mr.  Beecher's  theology  was  very 
different  from  mine,  but  he  did  not  differ  from 
me  in  the  Christian  life,  any  more  than  I  differed 
from  him.  He  never  interfered  with  me,  nor  I 
with  him.  Every  little  while  some  of  the  ministers 
of  America  were  attacked  by  a  sort  of  Beecher- 
phobia,  and  they  foamed  at  the  mouth  over 
something  that  the  pastor  of  Plymouth  Church 
said.  People  who  have  small  congregations  are 
apt  to  dislike  a  preacher  who  has  a  full  church. 
For  thirteen  years,  or  more,  Beecher's  church 
and  mine  never  collided.  He  had  more  people 
than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  and  so  had  I.  I 
belonged  to  the  company  of  the  orthodox,  but 
if  I  thought  that  orthodoxy  demanded  that  I 
must  go  and  break  other  people's  heads  I  would 
not  remain  orthodox  five  minutes.  Brooklyn 
was  called  the  city  of  churches,  but  it  could  also 
be  called  the  city  of  short  pastorates.     Many  of  the 


120        THE   SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

churches,  during  fifteen  years  of  my  pastorate,  had 
two,  three,  and  four  pastors.  Dr.  Scudder  came 
and  went ;  so  did  Dr.  Patten,  Dr.  Frazer,  Dr. 
Buckley,  Dr.  Mitchell,  Dr.  Reid,  Dr.  Steele,  Dr. 
Gallagher,  and  a  score  of  others.  The  Methodist 
Church  was  once  famous  for  keeping  a  minister 
only  three  or  four  years,  but  it  is  no  longer 
peculiar  in  this  respect.  Mr.  Beecher  had  been 
pastor  for  thirty-six  years  in  Brooklyn  when, 
in  the  summer  of  1883,  he  celebrated  the  anniver- 
sary of  his  seventieth  birthday. 

Every  now  and  then,  for  many  years,  there  was 
an  investigation  of  some  sort  in  Brooklyn.  Our 
bridge  was  a  favourite  target  of  investigation. 
"  Where  has  the  money  for  this  great  enter- 
prise been  expended  ?  "  was  the  common  ques- 
tion. I  defended  the  trustees,  because  people 
did  not  realise  the  emergencies  that  arose  as 
the  work  progressed  and  entailed  greater  ex- 
penditures. Originally,  when  projected,  it  was 
to  cost  $7,000,000,  but  there  was  to  be  only 
one  waggon  road.  It  was  resolved  later  to 
enlarge  the  structure  and  build  two  waggon 
roads,  and  a  place  for  trains,  freight,  and  passen- 
ger cars.  Those  enlarged  plans  were  all  to  the 
ultimate  advantage  of  the  growth  of  Brooklyn. 
It  was  at  first  intended  to  make  the  approaches 
of  the  bridge  in  trestle  work,  then  plans  were 
changed  and  they  were  built  of  granite.  The 
cable,  which  was  originally  to  be  made  of  iron, 
was  changed  to  steel.  For  three  years  these 
cables  were  the  line  on  which  the  passengers  on 
ferry-boats  hung  their  jokes  about  swindling  and 
political  bribery.  No  investigation  was  able  to 
shake  my  respect  for  the  integrity  of  Mr. 
Stranahan,  one  of  the  bridge  trustees.  He  did  as 
much  for  Brooklyn  as  any  man  in  it.  He  was  the 
promoter  of  Prospect  Park,  designed  and  planned 


BROOKLYN  BRIDGE  121 

from  his  head  and  heart.  With  all  the  powers  at 
my  disposal  I  defended  the  bridge  trustee. 

There  was  an  attempt  in  New  York,  towards 
the  close  of  1882,  to  present  the  Passion  Play 
on  the  stage  of  a  theatre.  A  licence  was  applied 
for.  The  artist,  no  matter  how  high  in  his  pro- 
fession, who  would  dare  to  appear  in  the  character 
of  the  Divine  Person,  was  fit  only  for  the  Tombs 
prison  or  Sing-Sing.  I  had  no  objection  to  any 
man  attempting  the  role  of  Judas  Iscariot.  That 
was  entirely  within  the  limitations  of  stage  art. 
Seth  Low  was  Mayor  of  Brooklyn,  and  Mr.  Grace 
was  Mayor  of  New  York — a  Protestant  and  a 
Catholic — and  yet  they  were  of  one  opinion  on 
this  proposed  blasphemy. 

I  think  everyone  in  America  realised  that  the 
Democratic  victory  in  the  election  of  Grover 
Cleveland,  by  a  majority  of  190,000  votes,  as 
Governor  of  New  York,  was  a  presidential 
prophecy.  The  contest  for  President  came  up, 
seriously,  in  the  spring  of  1883,  and  the  same 
headlines  appeared  in  the  political  caucus.  Among 
the  candidates  was  Benjamin  F.  Butler,  Governor 
of  Massachusetts.  I  believed  then  there  was  not  a 
better  man  in  the  United  States  for  President  than 
Chester  A.  Arthur.  I  believed  that  his  faith- 
fulness and  dignity  in  office  should  be  honoured 
with  the  nomination.  There  was  some  surprise 
occasioned  when  Harvard  refused  to  confer  an 
LL.D.  on  Governor  Butler,  a  rebuke  that  no 
previous  Governor  of  Massachusetts  had  suffered. 
After  all,  the  country  was  chiefly  impressed  in 
this  event  with  the  fact  that  an  LL.D.,  or  a  D.D., 
or  an  F.R.S.,  did  not  make  the  man.  Americans 
were  becoming  very  good  readers  of  character; 
they  could  see  at  a  glance  the  difference  between 
right  and  wrong,  but  they  were  tolerant  of  both. 
Much  more  so  than  I  was.    There  was  one  great 


122        THE   SEVENTH   MILESTONE 

fault  in  American  character  that  the  whole  world 
admired;  it  was  our  love  of  hero-worship.  A 
great  man  was  the  man  who  did  great  things,  no 
matter  what  that  man  might  stand  for  in  religion 
or  in  morals. 

There  was  Gambetta,  whose  friendship  for 
America  had  won  the  admiration  of  our  country. 
I  myself  admired  his  eloquence,  his  patriotism, 
his  courage  in  office  as  Prime  Minister  of  France ; 
but  his  dying  words  rolled  like  a  wintry  sea  over 
all  nations,  "I  am  lost !  "  Gambetta  was  an 
atheist,  a  man  whose  public  indignities  to  woman- 
hood were  demonstrated  from  Paris  to  Berlin. 
Gambetta's  patriotism  for  France  could  never 
atone  for  his  atheism,  and  his  infamy  towards 
women.  His  death,  in  the  dawn  of  1883,  was  a 
page  in  the  world's  history  turned  down  at  the 
corner. 

What  an  important  year  it  was  to  be  for  us! 
In  the  spring  of  1883  the  Brooklyn  bridge  was 
opened,  and  our  church  was  within  fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes  of  the  hotel  centre  of  New  York. 
I  said  then  that  many  of  us  would  see  the  popu- 
lation of  Brooklyn  quadrupled  and  sextupled. 
In  many  respects,  up  to  this  time,  Brooklyn  had 
been  treated  as  a  suburb  of  New  York,  a  dormitory 
for  tired  Wall  Streeters.  With  the  completion 
of  the  bridge  came  new  plans  for  rapid  transit, 
for  the  widening  of  our  streets,  for  the  advance- 
ment of  our  municipal  interests.  A  consolidation 
of  Brooklyn  and  New  York  was  then  under  dis- 
cussion. It  was  a  bad  look-out  for  office-holders, 
but  a  good  one  for  tax-payers.  At  least  that  was 
the  prospect,  but  I  never  will  see  much  encourage- 
ment in  American  politics. 

The  success  of  Grover  Cleveland  and  his  big 
majority,  as  Governor, led  both  wings  of  theDemo- 
cratic  party  to  promise  us  the  millennium.    Even 


GROVER   CLEVELAND  123 

the  Republicans  were  full  of  national  optimism, 
going  over  to  the  Democrats  to  help  the  jubilee 
of  reform.  Four  months  later,  although  we  were 
told  that  Mr.  Cleveland  was  to  be  President,  he 
could  not  get  his  own  legislature  to  ratify  his 
nomination.  His  hands  were  tied,  and  his  idolaters 
were  only  waiting  for  his  term  of  office  to  expire. 
The  politicians  lied  about  him.  Because  as 
Governor  of  New  York  he  could  not  give  all  the 
office-seekers  places,  he  was,  in  a  few  months, 
executed  by  his  political  friends,  and  the  millennium 
was  postponed  that  politics  might  have  time  to 
find  someone  else  to  be  lifted  up — and  in  turn 
hurled  into  oblivion. 

That  the  politics  of  our  country  might  serve  a 
wider  purpose,  a  great  agitation  among  the  news- 
papers began.  The  price  of  the  great  dailies  came 
down  from  four  to  three  cents,  and  from  three  to 
two  cents.  In  a  week  it  looked  as  though  they 
would  all  be  down  to  one  cent.  I  expected  to  see 
them  delivered  free,  with  a  bonus  given  for  the 
favour  of  taking  them  at  all.  It  was  not  a  pleas- 
ant outlook,  this  deluge  of  printed  matter, 
cheapened  in  every  way,  by  cheaper  labour, 
cheaper  substance,  and  cheaper  grammar.  It 
was  a  plan  that  enlarged  the  scope  of  influence 
over  what  was  arrogantly  claimed  as  editorial 
territory — public  opinion.  Public  opinion  is 
sound  enough,  so  long  as  it  is  not  taken  too 
seriously  in  the  newspapers. 

The  difference  between  a  man  as  his  antagonists 
depict  him,  and  as  he  really  is  in  his  own  character, 
may  be  as  wide  as  the  ocean.  I  was  particularly 
impressed  with  this  fact  when  I  met  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Ewer  of  New  York,  who  had  been  accused  of  being 
disputatious  and  arrogant.  Truth  was,  he  was 
a  master  in  the  art  of  religious  defence,  wielding 
a  scimitar  of  sharp  edge.     I  never  met   a  man 


124        THE   SEVENTH   MILESTONE 

with  more  of  the  childlike,  the  affable,  and  the 
self-sacrificing  qualities  than  Dr.  Ewer  had. 

He  was  an  honest  man  in  the  highest  sense, 
with  a  never-varying  purity  of  purpose.  Dr. 
Ewer  died  in  the  fall  of  1883. 

I  began  to  feel  that  in  the  local  management  of 
our  own  big  city  there  was  an  uplift,  when  two 
such  sterling  young  men  as  James  W.  Ridgeway, 
and  Joseph  C.  Hendrix,  were  nominated  for  Dis- 
trict Attorney.  They  were  merely  technical 
opponents,  but  were  united  in  the  cause  of  reform 
and  honest  administration  against  our  criminal 
population.  We  were  fortunate  in  the  degree 
of  promise  there  was,  in  having  a  choice  of  such 
competent  nominees.  But  it  was  a  period  of 
historical  jubilee  in  our  country,  this  fall  of 
1883. 

We  were  celebrating  centennials  everywhere, 
even  at  Harvard.  It  seemed  to  be  about  a  hun- 
dred years  back  since  anything  worth  while  had 
really  happened  in  America.  Since  1870  there 
had  been  a  round  of  centennials.  It  was  a  good 
thing  in  the  busy  glorification  of  a  brilliant 
present,  and  a  glorious  future,  that  we  rehearsed 
the  struggle  and  hardships  by  which  we  had 
arrived  to  this  great  inheritance  of  blessing  and 
prosperity. 

"  The  United  States  Government  is  a  bubble- 
bursting  nationality,"  said  Lord  John  Russell, 
but  every  year  since  has  disproved  the  accuracy 
of  this  jeer.  Even  our  elections  disproved  it. 
Candidates  for  the  Presidency  are  pushed  out  of 
sight  by  a  sudden  wave  of  split  tickets.  In  the 
elections  of  1883,  in  Ohio  ten  candidates  were 
obliterated;  in  Pennsylvania  five  were  buried 
and  fifteen  resurrected.  In  Indiana,  the  record 
of  names  in  United  States  political  quicksands 
is  too  long  too  consider,  the  new  candidates  that 


PRESIDENTIAL   CANDIDATES      125 

sprang  up  being  still  larger  in  numbers.  And  yet 
only  six  men  in  any  generation  become  President. 
Out  of  five  thousand  men,  who  consider  themselves 
competent  to  be  captains,  only  six  are  crowned 
with  their  ambition.  And  these  six  are  not  gener- 
ally the  men  who  had  any  prospect  of  becoming 
the  people's  choice.  The  two  political  chiefs  in 
convention,  failing  on  the  thirtieth  ballot  to  get 
the  nomination,  some  less  conspicuous  man  is 
chosen  as  a  compromise.  Political  ambition 
seems  to  me  a  poor  business.  There  are  men  more 
worthy  of  national  praise  than  the  successful  poli- 
ticians ;  men  like  Isaac  Hull ;  men  whose  generous 
gifts  and  Christian  careers  perpetuate  the  magni- 
ficent purposes  of  our  lives.  Isaac  Hull  was  a 
Quaker — one  of  the  best  in  that  sect.  I  lived 
among  quakers  for  seven  years  in  Philadelphia, 
and  I  loved  them.  Mr.  Hull  illustrated  in  his  life 
the  principles  of  his  sect,  characterised  by  in- 
tegrity of  finance  and  of  soul.  He  rose  to  the 
front  rank  of  public-spirited  men,  from  the  humble 
duties  of  a  farmer's  boy.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
important  members  of  the  Society  of  Friends, 
and  I  valued  the  privilege  of  his  friendship  more 
than  that  of  any  celebrity  I  ever  knew.  He  lived 
for  the  profit  in  standards  rather  than  for  wealth, 
and  he  passed  on  to  a  wider  circle  of  friends 
beyond. 

I  have  a  little  list  of  men  who  about  this  time 
passed  away  amid  many  antagonisms — men  who 
were  misunderstood  while  they  lived.  I  knew 
their  worth.  There  was  John  McKean,  the  Dis- 
trict Attorney  of  New  York,  who  died  in  1883, 
when  criticism  against  him,  of  lawyers  and  judges, 
was  most  bitter  and  cruel.  A  brilliant  lawyer,  he 
was  accused  of  non-performance  of  duty  ;  but  he 
died,  knowing  nothing  of  the  delays  complained 
of.     He  was  blamed  for  what  he  could  not  help. 


126  THE   SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

Some  stroke  of  ill-health  ;  some  untoward  wordly 
circumstances,  or  something  in  domestic  con- 
ditions will  often  disqualify  a  man  for  service  ;  and 
yet  he  is  blamed  for  idleness,  for  having  posses- 
sions when  the  finances  are  cramped,  for  temper 
when  the  nerves  have  given  out,  for  misanthropy 
when  he  has  had  enough  to  disgust  him  for  ever 
with  the  human  race.  After  we  have  exhausted 
the  vocabulary  of  our  abuse,  such  men  die,  and 
there  is  no  reparation  we  can  make.  In  spite  of 
the  abuse  John  McKean  received,  the  courts  ad- 
journed in  honour  of  his  death — but  that  was  a 
belated  honour.  McKean  was  one  of  the  kindest 
of  men;  he  was  merciful  and  brave. 

There  was  Henry  Villard,  whose  bankruptcy 
of  fortune  killed  him.  He  was  compelled  to 
resign  the  presidency  of  the  Northern  Pacific 
Railroad  Company,  to  resign  his  fortune,  to 
resign  all  but  his  integrity.  That  he  kept,  though 
every  dollar  had  gone.  Only  two  years  before  his 
financial  collapse  he  was  worth  §30,000,000.  In 
putting  the  great  Northern  Pacific  Railroad 
through  he  swamped  everything  he  had.  All 
through  Minnesota  and  the  North-west  I  heard 
his  praises.  He  was  a  man  of  great  heart  and 
unbounded  generosity,  on  which  fed  innumerable 
human  leeches,  enough  of  them  to  drain  the  life 
of  any  fortune  that  was  ever  made.  On  a  mag- 
nificent train  he  once  took,  free  of  charge,  to  the 
Yellowstone  Park,  a  party  of  men,  who  denounced 
him  because,  while  he  provided  them  with  every 
luxury,  they  could  not  each  have  a  separate 
drawing-room  car  to  themselves.  I  don't  believe 
since  the  world  began  there  went  through  this 
country  so  many  titled  nonentities  as  travelled 
then,  free  of  cost,  on  the  generous  bounty  of  Mr. 
Villard.  The  most  of  these  people  went  home  to 
the  other  side  of  the  sea,  and  wrote  magazine 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS  127 

articles  on  the  conditions  of  American  society, 
while  Mr.  Villard  went  into  bankruptcy.  It  was 
the  last  straw  that  broke  the  camel's  back.  It 
would  not  be  so  bad  if  riches  only  had  wings  with 
which  to  fly  away  ;  but  they  have  claws  with 
which  they  give  a  parting  clutch  that  sometimes 
clips  a  man's  reason,  or  crushes  his  heart.  It  is 
the  claw  of  riches  we  must  look  out  for. 

Then  there  was  Wendell  Phillips  !  Not  a  man 
in  this  country  was  more  admired  and  more 
hated  than  he  was.  Many  a  time,  addressing  a 
big  audience,  he  would  divide  them  into  two 
parts — those  who  got  up  to  leave  with  indigna- 
tion, and  those  who  remained  to  frown.  He  was 
often,  during  a  lecture,  bombarded  with  bricks 
and  bad  eggs.  But  he  liked  it.  He  could 
endure  anything  in  an  audience  but  silence,  and 
he  always  had  a  secure  following  of  admirers. 

He  told  me  once  that  in  some  of  the  back 
country  towns  of  Pennsylvania  it  nearly  killed  him 
to  lecture.  "  I  go  on  for  an  hour,"  he  told  me, 
"  without  hearing  one  response,  and  I  have  no 
way  of  knowing  whether  the  people  are  instructed, 
pleased,  or  outraged." 

He  enjoyed  the  tempestuous  life.  His  other 
life  was  home.  It  was  dominant  in  his  appre- 
ciation. He  owed  much  of  his  courage  to  that 
home.  Lecturing  in  Boston  once,  during  most 
agitated  times,  he  received  this  note  from  his 
wife  :  "  No  shilly-shallying,  Wendell,  in  the 
presence  of  this  great  public  outrage."  Many 
men  in  public  life  owe  their  strength  to  this 
reservoir  of  power  at  home. 

The  last  fifteen  years  of  his  life  were  devoted  to 
the  domestic  invalidism  of  his  home.  Some  men 
thought  this  was  unjustifiable.  But  what  ex- 
haustion of  home  life  had  been  given  to  establish 
his  public  career!     A  popular  subscription  was 


128        THE   SEVENTH  MILESTONE 

started  to  raise  a  monument  in  Boston  to  Wendell 
Phillips.  I  recommended  that  it  should  be  built 
within  sight  of  the  monument  erected  to  Daniel 
Webster.  If  there  were  ever  two  men  who  during 
their  life  had  an  appalling  antagonism,  they  were 
Daniel  Webster  and  Wendell  Phillips.  I  hoped  at 
that  time  their  statues  would  be  erected  facing 
each  other.  Wendell  Phillips  was  fortunate  in  his 
domestic  tower  of  strength  ;  still,  I  have  known 
men  whose  domestic  lives  were  painful  in  the 
extreme,  and  yet  they  arose  above  this  deficiency 
to  great  personal  prominence. 

What  is  good  for  one  man  is  not  good  for 
another.  It  is  the  same  with  State  rights  as  it 
is  with  private  rights.  In  '83-'84,  the  whole 
country  was  agitated  about  the  questions  of 
tariff  reform  and  free  trade.  Tariff  reform  for 
Pennsylvania,  free  trade  for  Kentucky.  New  Eng- 
land and  the  North-west  had  interests  that  would 
always  be  divergent.  It  was  absurd  to  try  and 
persuade  the  American  people  that  what  was  good 
for  one  State  was  good  for  another  State. 
Commonfintelligence  showed  how  false  this  theory 
was.  Until  by  some  great  change  the  manufac- 
turing interests  of  the  country  should  become 
national  interests,  co-operation  and  compromise 
in  inter-state  commerce  was  necessary.  No  one 
section  of  the  country  could  have  its  own  way. 
The  most  successful  candidate  for  the  Presidency 
at  this  time  seemed  to  be  the  man  who  could 
most  bewilder  the  public  mind  on  these  questions. 
Blessed  in  politics  is  the  political  fog  ! 

The  most  significantly  hopeful  fact  to  me  was 
that  the  three  prominent  candidates  for  Speaker- 
ship at  the  close  of  1883 — Mr.  Carlisle,  Mr.  Randall, 
and  Mr.  Cox — never  had  wine  on  their  tables. 
We  were,  moreover,  getting  away  from  the  old 
order  of  things,  when  senators  were  conspicuous  in 


THE   WORLD'S   PROGRESS  129 

gambling  houses.  The  world  was  advancing  in  a 
spiritual  transit  of  events  towards  the  close.  It 
was  time  that  it  gave  way  to  something  even 
better.  It  had  treated  me  gloriously,  and  I  had 
no  fault  to  find  with  it,  but  I  had  seen  so  many 
millions  in  hunger  and  pain,  and  wretchedness 
and  woe  that  I  felt  this  world  needed  either  to  be 
fixed  up  or  destroyed. 

The  world  had  had  a  hard  time  for  six  thousand 
years,  and,  as  the  new  year  of  1884  approached, 
there  were  indications  that  our  planet  was  getting 
restless.  There  were  earthquakes,  great  storms, 
great  drought.  It  may  last  until  some  of  my 
descendants  shall  head  their  letters  with  January 
1,  15,000,  A.D.  ;   but  I  doubt  it. 


THE  EIGHTH  MILESTONE 

1884—1885 

1  reached  the  fiftieth  year  of  my  life  in  Decem- 
ber, 1883.  In  my  long  residence  in  Brooklyn 
I  had  found  it  to  be  the  healthiest  city  in  the 
world.  It  had  always  been  a  good  place  to  live 
in — plenty  of  fresh  air  blowing  up  from  the 
sea — plenty  of  water  rolling  down  through  our 
reservoirs — the  Sabbaths  too  quiet  to  attract 
ruffianism. 

Of  all  the  men  I  have  seen  and  heard  and 
known,  there  were  but  a  few  deep  friendships  that 
I  depended  upon.  In  February,  1884,  I  lost  one 
of  these  by  the  decease  of  Thomas  Kinsella,  a 
Brooklyn  man  of  public  affairs,  of  singular 
patriotism  and  local  pride. 

Years  ago,  when  I  was  roughly  set  upon  by 
ecclesiastical  assailants,  he  gave  one  wide  swing 
of  his  editorial  scimitar,  which  helped  much  in 
their  ultimate  annihilation.  My  acquaintance  with 
him  was  slight  at  the  time,  and  I  did  not  ask  him 
to  help  me.  I  can  more  easily  forget  a  wrong 
done  to  me  than  I  can  forget  a  kindness.  He 
was  charitable  to  many  who  never  knew  of  it. 
By  reason  of  my  profession,  there  came  to  me 
many  stories  of  distress  and  want,  and  it  was  al- 
ways Mr.  Kinsella's  hand  that  was  open  to 
befriend   the   suffering.     Bitter   in   his   editorial 

130 


THOMAS   KINSELLA  131 

antagonisms,  he  was  wide  in  his  charities.  One 
did  not  have  to  knock  at  many  iron  gates  to  reach 
his  sympathies. 

Mr.  Kinsella  died  of  overwork,  from  the  toil  of 
years  that  taxed  his  strength.  None  but  those 
who  have  been  behind  the  scenes  can  appreciate 
the  energies  that  are  required  in  making  up  a 
great  daily  newspaper.  Its  demands  for  "  copy  " 
come  with  such  regularity.  Newspaper  writers 
must  produce  just  so  much,  whether  they  feel  like 
it  or  not.  There  is  no  newspaper  vacation.  So 
the  commanders-in-chief  of  the  great  dailies  often 
die  of  overwork.  Henry  J.  Raymond  died  that 
way,  Samuel  Bowles,  Horace  Greeley.  Once  in  a 
while  there  are  surviving  veterans  like  Thurlow 
Weed,  or  Erastus  Brooks,  or  James  Watson  Webb 
— but  they  shifted  the  most  of  the  burden  on 
others  as  they  grew  old.  Success  in  any  calling 
means  drudgery,  sacrifice,  push,  and  tug,  but 
especially  so  in  the  ranks  of  the  newspaper 
armies. 

A  great  many  of  us,  however,  about  this  time, 
survived  a  worse  fate,  though  how  we  did  it  is 
still  a  mystery  of  the  period.  We  discovered,  in 
the  spring  of  1884,  that  we  had  been  eating  and 
drinking  things  not  to  be  mentioned.  Honest 
old-fashioned  butter  had  melted  and  run  out  of 
the  world.  Instead  of  it  we  had  trichinosis  in  all 
styles  served  up  morning  and  evening — all  the 
evils  of  the  food  creation  set  before  us  in  raw 
shape,  or  done  up  in  puddings,  pies,  and  gravies. 
The  average  hotel  hash  was  innocent  merriment 
compared  to  our  adulterated  butter.  The  can- 
dies, which  we  bought  for  our  children,  under 
chemical  analysis,  were  found  to  be  crystallised 
disease.  Lozenges  were  of  red  lead.  Coffees  and 
teas  were  so  adulterated  that  we  felt  like  Charles 
Lamb,  who,  in  a  similar   predicament,  said,  "  If 


132  THE  EIGHTH  MILESTONE 

this  be  coffee,  give  me  tea  ;  and  if  it  be  tea,  give 
me  coffee."  Even  our  medicines  were  so  craftily 
adulterated  that  they  were  sure  to  kill.  There 
was  alum  in  our  bread,  chalk  in  our  milk,  glass  in 
our  sugar,  Venetian  red  in  our  cocoa,  and  heaven 
knows  what  in  the  syrup. 

Too  much  politics  in  our  food  threatened  to 
demoralise  our  large  cities.  The  same  thing  had 
happened  in  London,  in  1868.  We  survived  it, 
kept  on  preaching  against  it,  and  giving  money 
to  prosecute  the  guilty.  It  was  an  age  of  pursuit ; 
ministers  pursuing  ministers,  lawyers  pursuing 
lawyers,  doctors,  merchants,  even  Arctic  ex- 
plorers pursuing  one  another,  the  North  Pole  a 
jealous  centre  of  interest.  Everything  is  frozen  in 
the  Arctic  region  save  the  jealousies  of  the  Arctic 
explorers.  Even  the  North  Pole  men  were  like 
others.  This  we  discovered  in  1884,  when,  in 
Washington,  the  post-mortem  trial  of  DeLong 
and  his  men  was  in  progress.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  the  controversy.  There  were 
no  laurels  to  be  awarded  by  this  investigation, 
because  the  men  whose  fame  was  most  involved 
were  dead.  It  was  a  quarrel,  and  the  "  Jean- 
nette  "  was  the  graveyard  in  which  it  took  place. 
It  was  disgraceful. 

Jealousy  is  the  rage  of  a  man,  also  of  a  woman. 

It  was  evident,  in  the  progress  of  this  one-sided 
trial,  that  our  legislature  needed  to  have  their 
corridors,  their  stairways,  and  their  rooms  cleaned 
of  lobbyists. 

7  At  the  State  Capital  in  Albany,  one  bright 
spring  morning  in  the  same  year,  the  legislature 
rose  and  shook  itself,  and  the  Sergeant-at-Arms 
was  instructed  to  drive  the  squad  of  lobbyists 
out  of  the  building.  He  did  it  so  well  that  he 
scarcely  gave  them  time  to  get  their  canes  or 
their  hats.     Some  of  the  lowest  men  in  New  York 


REAL   HEROES  133 

and  Brooklyn  were  among  them.  That  was  a 
spring  cleaning  worth  while.  But  it  was  only  a 
little  corner  of  the  political  arena  that  was 
unclean. 

I  remember  how  eagerly,  when  I  went  to 
Canada  in  April,  the  reporters  kept  asking  me  who 
would  be  the  next  President.  It  would  have  been 
such  an  easy  thing  to  answer  if  I  had  only  known 
who  the  man  was.  In  this  dilemma  I  suggested 
some  of  our  best  presidential  timber  in  Brooklyn  as 
suitable  candidates.  These  were  General  Slocum, 
General  Woodford,  General  Tracey,  Mayor  Low, 
Judge  Pratt,  Judge  Tierney,  Mr.  Stranahan,  and 
Judge  Neilson.  Some  of  these  men  had  been 
seriously  mentioned  for  the  office.  Honourable 
mention  was  all  they  got,  however.  They  were 
too  unpretentious  for  the  role.  It  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  mud-slinging  campaign.  New  York 
versus  New  York — Brooklyn  versus  Brooklyn. 

I  long  ago  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  real 
heroes  of  the  world  were  on  the  sea.  The 
ambitions  of  men  crowded  together  on  land  were 
incontestably  disgusting.  On  the  vast,  restless 
deep  men  stand  alone,  in  brave  conflict  with 
constant  danger.  I  was  always  deeply  impressed 
by  the  character  of  men,  as  revealed  in  disasters 
of  the  sea.  There  were  many  of  them  during  my 
life-time.  The  bigger  the  ships  grew,  the  more 
dangerous  became  ocean  travel.  Our  improve- 
ments seemed  to  add  to  the  humour  of  grim  old 
Neptune.  In  1884  the  ocean  was  becoming  a 
great  turnpike  road,  and  people  were  required  by 
law  to  keep  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  A  popula- 
tion of  a  million  sailors  was  on  the  sea  at  all  times. 
Some  of  the  ships  were  too  busy  to  stop  to  save 
human  lives,  as  was  the  case  in  the  disaster  of  the 
"  Florida."  In  distress,  her  captain  hailed  "  The 
City   of   Rome,"    a   monster   of  the   deep.     But 


134  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

"  The  City  of  Rome  "  had  no  time  to  stop,  and 
passed  on  by.  The  lifeboats  of  the  "  Florida  " 
were  useless  shells,  utterly  unseaworthy.  The 
"  Florida  "  was  unfit  for  service.  John  Bayne, 
the  engineer,  was  the  hero  who  lost  his  life  to 
save  others.  But  this  was  becoming  a  common 
story  of  the  sea  ;  for  when  the  "  Schiller  "  went 
down,  Captain  Thomas  gave  his  life  for  others. 
When  the  "  Central- America  "  sank,  President 
Arthur's  father-in-law  perished  in  the  same  way. 
Every  shipwreck  I  have  known  seems  lighted  up 
with  some  marvellous  deed  of  heroism  in  man. 

In  1884  there  was  a  failure  in  Wall  Street  for 
eight  or  ten  million  dollars,  and  hundreds  went 
down  during  this  shipwreck.  By  heroism  and 
courage  alone  were  they  able  to  outlive  it.  To 
whom  did  all  this  money  belong  ?  To  those  who 
were  drowned  in  the  storm  of  financial  sea.  But 
it  was  only  a  Wall  Street  flurry ;  it  did  not  affect 
the  national  ship  as  it  would  have  done  twenty 
years  before.  The  time  had  passed  when  Wall 
Street  could  jeopardise  the  commerce  of  the 
country.  Twenty  years  before,  such  a  calamity 
in  three  days'  time  would  have  left  all  the  business 
of  the  nation  in  the  dust.  It  would  have  crashed 
down  all  the  banks,  the  insurance  companies,  the 
stock-houses.  New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia, 
San  Francisco,  New  Orleans — from  coast  to  coast, 
everything  would  have  tumbled  down. 

The  principal  lesson  derived  from  this  panic 
was  to  keep  excitable  men  out  of  Wall  Street. 
While  the  romance  of  a  failure  for  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars  is  more  appealing  than  a 
failure  for  a  small  sum,  the  greater  the  deficit 
the  greater  the  responsibility.  Ferdinand  Ward 
was  in  this  Wall  Street  crash  of  1883.  The 
roseate  glasses  of  wealth  through  which  he  saw 
the  world    had    made  him   also   see  millions  in 


FINANCIAL   DISASTER  135 

every  direction.  George  L.  Seney  lost  hisjbank 
and  railroad  stock  in  this  failure,  but  he  had 
given  hundreds  of  thousands  to  the  cause  of 
education,  North  and  South.  Some  people 
regretted  that  he  had  not  kept  his  fortune  to 
help  him  out  of  his  trouble.  I  believe  there  were 
thousands  of  good  people  all  over  the  country 
who  prayed  that  this  philanthropist  might  be 
restored  to  wealth.  There  was  one  man  in  Wall 
Street  at  this  time  who  I  said  could  not  fail.  He 
was  Mr.  A.  S.  Hatch,  President  of  the  New  York 
Stock  Exchange.  He  had  given  large  sums  of 
money  to  Christian  work,  and  was  personally  an 
active  church  member. 

That  which  I  hear  about  men  who  are  unfortun- 
ate makes  no  impression  on  me.  There  is  always 
a  great  jubilee  over  the  downfall  of  a  financier. 
I  like  to  put  the  best  phase  possible  upon  a  man's 
misfortune.  No  one  begrudged  the  wealth  of  the 
rich  men  of  the  past. 

The  world  was  becoming  too  compressed,  it 
was  said ;  there  was  not  room  enough  to  get  away 
from  your  troubles.  All  the  better.  It  was 
getting  to  a  compactness  that  could  be  easily 
poked  up  and  divinely  appropriated.  A  new  cable 
was  landed  at  Rockport,  Mass.,  that  was  to  bring 
the  world  into  closer  reunion  of  messages.  We 
were  to  have  cheaper  cable  service  under  the 
management  of  the  Commercial  Cable  Company. 
Simultaneously  with  this  information,  the  s.s. 
"America"  made  the  astounding  record  of  a  trip 
from  shore  to  shore  of  the  Atlantic,  in  six  days 
fourteen  hours  and  eighteen  minutes.  It  was  a 
startling  symbol  of  future  wonders.  I  promised 
then  to  exchange  pulpits  with  any  church  in 
England  once  a  month.  It  seemed  a  possibility, 
as  proposed  in  Mr.  Corbin's  scheme  of  harbours 
at  Montauk  Point.     There  were  pauses  in  the 


136  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

breathless  speed  we  were  just  beginning  at  this 
time.  We  paused  to  say  farewell  to  the  good 
men  whom  we  were  passing  by.  They  were  not 
spectacular.  Some  of  them  will  no  doubt  be 
unknown  to  the  reader. 

A  gentle  old  man,  his  face  illumined  always  by 
a  radiant  smile,  fell  behind.  He  was  Bishop 
Simpson.  We  paused  to  bid  him  farewell.  In 
1863,  walking  the  streets  of  Philadelphia  one 
night  with  an  army  surgeon,  we  passed  the 
Academy  of  Music  in  that  city,  where  s  meeting 
was  being  held  on  behalf  of  the  Christian  Com- 
mission, the  object  of  which  was  to  take  care  of 
wounded  soldiers.  As  we  stood  at  the  back  of 
the  stage  listening,  the  meeting  seemed  to  be 
very  dull.  A  speaker  was  introduced.  His  voice 
was  thin,  his  manner  unimpressive.  My  friend 
said,  "  Let's  go,"  but  I  replied,  "  Wait  until  we 
see  what  there  is  in  him."  Suddenly,  he  grew 
upon  us.  The  address  became  adorned  with  a 
pathos,  a  sublimity,  and  an  enthusiasm  that 
overwhelmed  the  audience.  When  the  speaker 
sat  down,  I  inquired  who  he  was. 

"  That  is  Bishop  Simpson,"  said  my  informant. 
In  later  years,  I  learned  that  the  Bishop's  address 
that  night  was  the  great  hour  of  his  life.  His 
reputation  became  national.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  old  men  who  knew  how  to  treat  young  men. 
He  used  no  gestures  on  the  platform,  no  climaxes, 
no  dramatic  effects  of  voice,  yet  he  was  eloquent 
beyond  description.  His  earnestness  broke  over 
and  broke  through  all  rules  of  rhetoric.  He  made 
his  audiences  think  and  feel  as  he  did  himself. 
That,  I  believe,  is  the  best  of  a  man's  inner 
salvation. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  we  paused  to 
close  the  chapters  of  Jerry  McCauley's  life,  a  man 
who  had  risen  from  the  depths  of  crime  and  sin — 


JERRY   McCAULEY  137 

a  different  sort  of  man  from  Bishop  Simpson. 
He  was  born  in  the  home  of  a  counterfeiter.  He 
became  a  thief,  an  outlaw.  By  an  influence  that 
many  consider  obsolete  and  old-fashioned,  he 
became  converted,  and  was  recognised  by  the  best 
men  and  women  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn.  I 
knew  McCauley.  I  stood  with  him  on  the  steps 
of  his  mission  in  Water  Street.  He  was  a  river 
thief  changed  into  an  angel.  It  was  supernatural, 
a  miracle.  McCauley  gave  twelve  years  to  his 
mission  work.  Two  years  before  his  death  he 
changed  his  quarters,  converting  a  dive  into  a 
House  of  God.  What  an  imbecile  city  govern- 
ment refused  to  touch  was  surrendered  to  hosan- 
nas  and  doxologies.  The  story  of  Jerry  McCauley's 
missionary  work  in  the  heart  of  a  wicked 
section  of  New  York  was  called  romantic.  I 
attest  that  I  am  just  as  keenly  sensitive  to  the 
beauty  of  romance  as  any  human  being,  but 
there  was  a  great  deal  that  was  called  romantic 
in  American  life  in  1884-1885  that  was  not  so. 
Romance  became  a  roseate  mist,  through  which 
old  and  young  saw  the  obligations  of  life  but 
dimly. 

A  strange  romance  of  marriage  became  epidemic 
in  America  at  this  time.  European  ethics  were 
being  imported,  and  the  romance  of  European 
liberty  swept  over  us.  A  parental  despotism  was 
responsible.  The  newspapers  of  the  summer  of 
1884  were  full  of  elopements.  They  were  long 
exciting  chapters  of  domestic  calamity.  My 
sympathies  were  with  the  young  fellow  of  seven 
hundred  dollars  income,  married  to  a  millionaire 
fool  who  continually  informed  him  how  much 
better  her  position  was  before  she  left  home  ;  the 
honeymoon  a  bliss  of  six  months,  and  all  the 
rest  of  his  life  a  profound  wish  that  he  had  never 
been  born  ;    his  only  redress   the   divorce   court 


138  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

or  the  almshouse.  The  poetry  of  these  elopements 
was  false,  the  prose  that  came  after  was  the  truth. 
Marriage  is  an  old-fashioned  business,  and  that 
wedding  procession  lasts  longest  that  starts  not 
down  the  ladder  out  of  the  back  window,  but  from 
the  front  door  with  a  benediction. 

But,  morally  and  politically,  we  were  in  a  riot 
of  opinion  against  which  I  constantly  protested. 
Politically,  we  were  without  morals. 

The  opposing  Presidential  candidates  in  1884 
were  Grover  Cleveland  and  James  G.  Blaine.  It 
was  the  wonder  of  the  world  that  the  American 
people  did  not  make  Mr.  Blaine  President.  There 
was  a  world-wide  amazement  also  at  the  abuse 
which  preceded  Mr.  Cleveland's  election.  The 
whole  thing  was  a  spectacle  of  the  ignorance  of 
men  about  great  men.  All  sorts  of  defamatory 
reports  were  spread  abroad  about  them.  Men  of 
mind  are  also  men  of  temperament.  There  are  two 
men  in  every  one  man,  and  for  this  reason  Mr. 
Blaine  was  the  most  misunderstood  of  great  men. 
To  the  end  of  his  brilliant  life  calumny  pursued 
him.     There  were  all  sorts  of  reports  about  him. 

One  series  of  reports  said  that  Mr.  Blaine  was 
almost  unable  to  walk  ;  that  he  was  too  sick  to  be 
seen  ;  that  death  was  for  him  close  at  hand,  and 
his  obituaries  were  in  type  in  many  of  the  printing 
offices. 

The  other  series  of  reports  said  that  Mr.  Blaine 
was  vigorous  ;  went  up  the  front  steps  of  his 
house  at  a  bound  ;  was  doing  more  work  than 
ever,  and  was  rollicking  with  mirth.  The  baleful 
story  was  ascribed  to  his  enemies,  who  wanted  the 
great  man  out  of  the  world.  The  reassuring  story 
was  ascribed  to  his  friends,  who  wanted  to  keep 
him  in  the  ranks  of  Presidential  possibilities. 

The  fact  is  that  both  reports  were  true.  There 
were  two  Mr.  Blaines,  as  there  are  two  of  every 


JAMES   G.  BLAINE  139 

mercurial  temperament.  Of  the  phlegmatic, 
slow-pulsed  man  there  is  only  one.  You  see  him 
once  and  you  see  him  as  he  always  is.  Not  so 
with  the  nervous  organisation.  He  has  as  many 
moods  as  the  weather,  as  many  changes  as  the 
sky.  He  is  bright  or  dull,  serene  or  tempestuous, 
cold  or  hot,  up  or  down,  January  or  August,  day 
or  night,  Arctic  or  tropical.  At  Washington,  in 
1889,  I  saw  the  two  Blaines  within  two  hours.  I 
called  with  my  son  to  see  the  great  Secretary  of 
State  at  his  office,  and  although  it  was  his  day  for 
seeing  foreign  diplomats,  he  received  us  with  great 
cordiality.  His  face  was  an  illumination ;  his 
voice  resonant ;  his  manner  animated  ;  he  was 
full  of  gesticulation.  He  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  describing  things  under  discussion  ;  fire  in 
his  eye,  spring  in  his  step.  Although  about  fifty- 
nine  years  of  age,  he  looked  forty-five,  and  strong 
enough  to  wrestle  with  two  or  three  ordinary  men. 
He  had  enough  vitality  for  an  athlete. 

We  parted.  My  son  and  I  went  down  the 
street,  made  two  or  three  other  calls,  and  on  the 
way  noticed  a  carriage  passing  with  two  or  three 
people  in  it.  My  attention  was  startled  by  the 
appearance  in  that  carriage  of  what  seemed  a 
case  of  extreme  invalidism.  The  man  seemed 
somewhat  bolstered  up.  My  sympathies  were 
immediately  aroused,  and  I  said  to  my  son, 
"  Look  at  that  sick  man  riding  yonder."  When 
the  carriage  came  nearer  to  us,  my  son  said, 
"  That  is  Mr.  Blaine."  Looking  closely  at  the 
carriage  I  found  that  this  was  so.  He  had 
in  two  hours  swung  from  vigour  to  exhaus- 
tion, from  the  look  of  a  man  good  for  twenty 
years  of  successful  work  to  a  man  who  seemed 
to  be  taking  his  last  ride.  He  simply  looked 
as  he  felt  on  both  occasions.  We  had  seen  the 
two  Blaines. 


140  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

How  much  more  just  we  would  be  in  our  judg- 
ment of  men  if  we  realised  that  a  man  may  be 
honestly  two  different  men,  and  how  this  theory 
would  explain  that  which  in  every  man  of  high 
organisation  seems  sometimes  to  be  contradictory ! 
Aye,  within  five  minutes  some  of  us  with  mercurial 
natures  can  remember  to  have  been  two  entirely 
different  men  in  two  entirely  different  worlds. 
Something  said  to  us  cheering  or  depressing ; 
some  tidings  announced,  glad  or  sad  ;  some  great 
kindness  done  for  us,  or  some  meanness  practised 
on  us  have  changed  the  zone,  the  pulsation,  the 
physiognomy,  the  physical,  the  mental,  the 
spiritual  condition,  and  we  become  no  more  what 
we  were  than  summer  is  winter,  or  midnoon  is 
midnight,  or  frosts  are  flowers. 

The  air  was  full  of  political  clamour  and  strife 
in  the  election  of  1884.  Never  in  this  country 
was  there  a  greater  temptation  to  political  fraud, 
because,  after  four  month's  battle,  the  counting 
of  the  ballots  revealed  almost  a  tie.  I  urged  self- 
control  among  men  who  were  angry  and  men  who 
were  bitter.  The  enemies  of  Mr.  Blaine  were  not 
necessarily  the  friends  of  Mr.  Cleveland.  The 
enemies  of  Mr.  Cleveland  were  bitter,  but  they 
were  afraid  of  Mr.  Blaine  ;  for  he  was  a  giant 
intellectually,  practically,  physically,  and  he 
stood  in  the  centre  of  a  national  arena  of  politics, 
prepared  to  meet  all  challenge.  Mr.  Cleveland 
never  really  opposed  him.  He  faced  him  on  party 
issues,  not  as  an  individual  antagonist.  The 
excitement  was  intense  during  the  suspense  that 
followed  the  counting  of  the  ballots,  and  Mr. 
Cleveland  went  into  the  White  House  amidst  a 
roar  of  public  opinion  so  confused  and  so  vicious 
that  there  was  no  certainty  of  ultimate  order  in 
the  country.  In  after  years  I  enjoyed  his  con- 
fidence and  friendship,  and  I  learned  to  appreciate 


A   PHILANTHROPIST  141 

the  stability  and  reserve  of  his  nature.  In  a 
Milestone  beyond  this,  I  have  recalled  a  conver- 
sation I  had  with  him  at  the  White  House,  and 
recorded  my  impressions  of  him.  Above  the 
clamour  of  these  troublesome  times,  I  raised  my 
voice  and  said  that  in  the  distant  years  to  come 
the  electors  of  New  York,  Alabama,  and  Maine, 
and  California,  would  march  together  down 
Pennsylvania  Avenue  in  Washington  for  the 
discharge  of  the  great  duties  of  the  Electoral  College. 

The  storm  passed,  and  the  Democrats  were  in 
power.  It  was  the  calm  that  follows  an  electrical 
disturbance.  The  paroxysm  of  filth  and  moral 
death  was  over. 

Mr.  Vanderbilt,  converted  into  a  philanthropist, 
gave  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  a  medi- 
cal institute,  and  the  world  began  to  see  new 
possibilities  in  great  fortunes.  That  a  railroad 
king  could  also  be  a  Christian  king  was  a  hopeful 
tendency  of  the  times.  These  were  the  acts  that 
tended  to  smother  the  activities  of  Communism 
in  America. 

In  the  previous  four  years  the  curious  astron- 
omer had  discovered  the  evolution  of  a  new  world 
in  the  sky,  and  so  while  on  earth  there  were  con- 
vulsions, in  the  skies  there  were  new  beauties 
born.  With  the  rising  sun  of  the  year  1885,  one 
of  our  great  and  good  men  of  Brooklyn  saw  it 
with  failing  eyesight.  Doctor  Noah  Hunt  Schenck, 
pastor  of  St.  Ann's  Episcopal  Church,  was 
stricken.  For  fifteen  years  he  had  blessed  our 
city  with  his  benediction.  The  beautiful  cathedral 
which  grew  to  its  proportions  of  grandeur  under 
Doctor  Schenck's  pastorate,  stood  as  a  monu- 
ment to  him. 

A  few  weeks  later  Schuyler  Colfax,  speaker 
of  the  House  of  Representatives,  passed  on.  In  the 
vortex  of  political  feeling  his  integrity  was  attacked 


142  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

but  I  never  believed  a  word  of  the  accusations. 
Ten  millions  of  people  hoped  for  his  election  as 
President.  He  was  my  personal  friend.  When  the 
scandal  of  his  life  was  most  violent,  he  explained 
it  all  away  satisfactorily  in  my  own  house. 
This  explanation  was  a  confidence  that  I  cannot 
break,  but  it  made  me  ever  afterwards  a  loyal 
friend  to  his  memory.  He  was  one  of  those 
upon  whom  was  placed  the  burden  of  living  down 
a  calumny,  and  when  he  died  Congress  adjourned 
in  his  honour.  Members  of  the  legislature  in  his 
own  country  gathered  about  his  obsequies.  I 
have  known  many  men  in  public  life,  but  a  more 
lovable  man  than  Schuyler  Colfax  I  never  knew. 
The  generous  words  he  spoke  of  me  on  the  last 
Sabbath  of  his  life  I  shall  never  forget.  The 
perpetual  smile  on  his  face  was  meanly  carica- 
tured, and  yet  it  was  his  benediction  upon  a 
world  unworthy  of  him. 

In  1885,  from  far  away  over  the  sea  came 
muffled  thunder  tones  of  war  and  rebellion.  The 
deadly  nightshade  was  indigenous  to  our  times. 
The  dynamite  outrages  at  Westminster  Hall  and 
the  House  of  Commons  were  explosions  we  in 
America  heard  faintly.  Their  importance  was  ex- 
aggerated. A  hundred  years  back,  the  kings  of 
England,  of  France,  of  Russia  who  died  in  their 
beds  were  rare.  The  violent  incidents  of  life 
were  less  conspicuous  as  the  years  went  on.  What 
riots  Philadelphia  had  seen  during  the  old 
firemen's  battle  in  the  streets !  And  those  thea- 
trical riots  in  New  York,  when  the  military  was 
called  out,  and  had  to  fire  into  the  mob,  because 
the  friends  of  Macready  and  Forrest  could  not 
agree  as  to  which  was  the  better  actor  ! 

An  alarming  number  of  disputes  came  up  at 
this  time  over  wills.  The  Orphan  Courts  were 
over- worked  with  these  cases.     I  suggested  a  rule 


THE   PROBLEM   OF  THE   POOR    143 

for  all  wills  :  one-third  at  least  to  the  wife,  and 
let  the  children  share  alike.  When  a  child  receives 
more  than  a  wife,  the  family  is  askew.  A  man's 
wife  should  be  first  in  every  ambition,  in  every 
provision.  One-third  to  the  wife  is  none  too 
much.  The  worst  family  feuds  proceed  from 
inequality  of  inheritance. 

This  question  of  rights  under  testamentary 
gifts  of  the  rich  was  not  so  important,  however, 
as  the  alarming  growth  in  our  big  cities  of  the 
problem  of  the  poor.  The  tenement  house  be- 
came a  menace  to  cleanliness.  Never  before 
were  there  so  many  people  living  in  unswept, 
unaired  tenements.  Stairs  below  stairs,  stairs 
above  stairs,  where  all  the  laws  of  health  were 
violated.  The  Sanitary  Protective  League  was 
organised  to  alleviate  these  conditions.  Asiatic 
cholera  was  striding  over  Europe,  and  the  tene- 
ment house  of  America  was  a  resting  place  for 
it  here. 

After  a  lecturing  trip  in  the  spring  of  1885 
through  Ohio,  Indiana,  Michigan,  Illinois,  and 
Wisconsin,  I  returned  to  Brooklyn,  delighted 
with  the  confidence  with  which  the  people  looked 
forward  to  the  first  Cleveland  administration. 
On  the  day  that  $50,000,000  was  voted  for 
the  River  and  Harbour  Bill,  both  parties  sharing 
in  the  spoils,  American  politics  touched  bottom. 
There  were  symptoms  of  recuperation  in  Mr. 
Cleveland's  initiative.  Belligerency  was  aban- 
doned as  a  hopeless  campaign. 

The  graceful  courtesy  with  which  President 
Arthur  bowed  himself  out  of  the  White  House  was 
unparalleled.  Never  in  my  memory  was  a  sceptre 
so  gracefully  relinquished.  Nothing  in  his  three- 
and-a-half  years  of  office  did  him  more  credit. 
I  think  we  never  had  a  better  President  than 
Mr.  Arthur.     He    was    fortunate    in    having    in 


144  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

his    Cabinet  as   chief  adviser  Mr.   Frederick   T. 
Frelinghuysen. 

My  office  as  a  minister  compelled  me  to  see,  first 
and  foremost,  the  righteous  uplift  of  the  events 
as  I  passed  along  with  them.  These  were  not 
always  the  most  conspicuous  elements  of  public 
interest,  but  they  comprised  the  things  and  the 
people  I  saw. 

I  recall,  for  instance,  chief  amongst  the  inci- 
dents of  Mr.  Cleveland's  administration,  that  the 
oath  of  office  was  administered  upon  his  mother's 
Bible.  Many  people  regarded  this  as  mere  senti- 
mentality. To  me  it  meant  more  than  words 
could  express.  The  best  of  Bibles  is  the  mother's. 
It  meant  that  the  man  who  chose  to  be  sworn  in 
on  such  a  book  had  a  grateful  remembrance. 
It  was  as  though  he  had  said,  "  If  it  had  not  been 
for  her,  this  honour  would  never  have  come  to 
me."  For  all  there  is  of  actual  solemnity  in  the 
usual  form  of  taking  an  oath,  people  might  just  as 
well  be  sworn  in  on  a  city  directory  or  an  old 
almanac.  But,  as  I  said  then,  I  say  now — make 
way  for  an  administration  that  starts  from  the 
worn  and  faded  covers  of  a  Bible  presented  by  a 
mother's  hand  at  parting. 

Mr.  Blaine's  visit  to  the  White  House  to  con- 
gratulate the  victor,  his  cordial  reception  there, 
and  his  long  stay,  was  another  bright  side  of  the 
election  contest.  There  must  have  been  a  good 
deal  of  lying  about  these  two  men  when  they  were 
wrestling  for  the  honours,  for  if  all  that  was  said  had 
been  true  the  scene  of  hearty  salutation  between 
them  would  not  only  have  been  unfit,  but 
impossible. 

All  this  optimism  of  outlook  helped  to  defeat 
the  animosity  of  the  previous  campaign.  A 
crowning  influence  upon  the  national  confusion 
of  standards  was  the  final  unanimous    vote   in 


AN   OPTIMISTIC  OUTLOOK  145 

Congress  in  favour  of  putting  General  Grant  on 
the  retired  list,  with  a  suitable  provision  for  his 
livelihood,  in  view  of  a  malady  that  had  come 
upon  him.  It  had  been  a  long,  angry,  bitter 
debate,  but  the  generous  quality  of  American 
sympathy  prevailed.  Men  who  fought  on  the 
other  side  and  men  who  had  opposed  his  Presi- 
dential policy  united  to  alleviate  his  sickness, 
the  pulsations  of  which  the  nation  was  counting. 
President  Arthur's  last  act  was  to  recommend 
General  Grant's  relief,  and  almost  the  first  act 
of  Mr.  Cleveland's  administration  was  to  ratify 
it.  Republics  are  not  ungrateful.  The  American 
Republic  subscribed  about  $400,000  for  the 
relief  of  Mrs.  Garfield ;  voted  pensions  for 
Mrs.  Polk  and  Mrs.  Tyler ;  some  years  ago  sub- 
scribed $250,000  for  General  Grant,  and  in- 
creased it  by  vote  of  Congress  in  1885.  The  Con- 
queror on  the  pale  horse  had  already  taken  many 
prisoners  among  the  surviving  heroes  of  the  war. 
It  was  fitting  that  he  should  make  his  coming 
upon  the  great  leader  of  the  Union  Army  as 
gentle  as  the  south  wind. 

There  was  a  surplus  of  men  fit  for  official  posi- 
tion in  America  when  the  hour  of  our  new 
appointments  arrived.  There  were  hundreds  of 
men  competent  to  become  ministers  to  England, 
to  France,  to  Germany,  to  Russia  ;  as  competent 
as  James  Russell  Lowell  or  Mr.  Phelps.  This  was 
all  due  to  the  affluence  of  American  institutions, 
that  spread  the  benefits  of  education  broad- 
cast. I  remember  when  Daniel  Webster  died, 
people  said,  "We  shall  have  no  one  now  to  expound 
the  constitution,"  but  the  chief  expositions  of  the 
constitution  have  been  written  and  uttered  since 
then.  There  were  pigmies  in  the  old  days,  too.  I 
had  a  friend  who,  as  a  stenographer  some  years 
ago,  made  a  fortune  by  knocking  bad  grammar  out 


146  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

of  the  speeches  of  Congressmen  and  Senators,  who 
were  illiterate.  They  said  to  him  haughtily, 
"  Stenographer,  here  are  a  couple  of  hundred 
dollars  ;  fix  up  that  speech  I  made  this  morning, 
and  see  that  it  gets  into  the  Congressional  Record 
all  right.    If  you  can't  fix  it  up,  write  another." 

In  1885,  there  were  plenty  of  women,  too,  who 
understood  politics.  There  were  mean  and  silly 
women,  of  course,  but  there  was  a  new  race  spring- 
ing up  of  grand,  splendid,  competent  women, 
with  a  knowledge  of  affairs.  The  appointment  of 
Mr.  Cox  as  Minister  to  Turkey  was  a  compliment 
to  American  literature.  In  consequence  of  a 
picturesque  description  he  gave  of  some  closing 
day  in  a  foreign  country,  he  was  facetiously 
nicknamed  "  Sunset  Cox."  I  rechristened  him 
"  Sunrise  Cox."  When  President  Tyler  appointed 
Washington  Irving  as  Minister  to  Spain,  he  set 
an  example  for  all  time.  Men  of  letters  put  their 
blood  into  their  inkstands,  but  the  sacrifice  is 
poorly  recognised. 

Some  of  us  were  faintly  urging  world-wide 
peace,  but  around  the  night  sky  of  1885  was  the 
glare  of  many  camp  fires.  Never  were  there 
so  many  wars  on  the  calendar  at  the  same 
time.  The  Soudan  war,  the  threat  of  a  Russo- 
English  war  and  of  a  Franco-Chinese  war,  the 
South-American  war,  the  Colombian  war — all 
the  nations  restless  and  arming.  The  scarlet 
rash  of  international  hatred  spread  over  the 
earth,  and  there  were  many  predictions.  I 
said  then  it  was  comparatively  easy  to  fore- 
tell the  issue  of  these  wars — excepting  one.  I 
believed  that  the  Revolutionist  of  Panama  would 
be  beaten ;  the  half-breed  overcome  by  the 
Canadian  ;  that  France  would  humble  China,  but 
that  the  Central  American  war  would  go  on, 
and  stop,  and  go  on  again,  and  stop  again,  until, 


A   PERIOD   OF   WARS  147 

discovering  some  Washington  or  Hamilton  or 
Jefferson  of  its  own,  it  would  establish  a  United 
States  of  South  America  corresponding  with  the 
United  States  of  North  America.  The  Soudan 
war  would  cease  when  the  English  Government 
abandoned  the  attempt  to  fix  up  in  Egypt  things 
unfixable.  But  what  would  be  the  result  of  the 
outbreak  between  England  and  Russia  was  the 
war  problem  of  the  world.  The  real  question  at 
issue  was  whether  Europe  should  be  dominated 
by  the  lion  or  the  bear. 

In  the  United  States  we  had  no  internal 
frictions  which  threatened  us  so  much  as  rum  and 
gambling.  In  Brooklyn  we  never  ceased  bom- 
barding these  rebellious  agents  of  war  on  the 
character  of  young  men.  Coney  Island  was  once 
a  beautiful  place,  but  in  the  five  years  since  that 
time,  when  it  was  a  garden  by  the  sea,  the  races 
at  Brighton  Beach  and  Sheepshead  Bay  had  been 
established.  In  New  York  and  Brooklyn  pool 
rooms  were  open  for  betting  on  these  races.  In 
ten  years'  time  I  predicted  that  no  decent  man  or 
woman  would  be  able  to  visit  Coney  Island. 
The  evil  was  stupendous,  and  the  subject  of 
Coney  Island  could  no  longer  be  neglected  in  the 
pulpit. 

Betting  was  a  new-fashioned  sort  of  vice  in 
America  in  1885  ;  it  was  just  becoming  a  licensed 
relaxation  for  young  boys.  As  the  years  went  on, 
it  has  grown  to  great  distinction  in  all  forms  of 
American  life,  but  it  was  yet  only  at  its  starting 
point  in  this  year.  Looking  over  an  address  I 
made  on  this  subject,  I  find  this  statement : 

"  What  a  spectacle  when,  at  Saratoga,  or  at 
Long  Branch,  or  at  Brighton  Beach,  the  horses 
stop,  and  in  a  flash  $50,000  or  $100,000  change 
hands — multitudes  ruined  by  losses,  others, 
ruined  by  winnings."       Many  years  afterwards 


148  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

the  money  involved  in  racing  was  in  the  millions  ; 
but  in  1885,  $100,000  was  still  a  good  bit.  There 
were  three  kinds  of  betting  at  the  horse  races  then 
— by  auction  pools,  by  French  mutuals,  and  by 
what  is  called  bookmaking — all  of  these  methods 
controlled  "for  a  consideration."  The  pool 
seller  deducted  three  or  five  per  cent,  from  the 
winning  bet  (incidentally  "  ringing  up "  more 
tickets  than  were  sold  on  the  winning  horse), 
while  the  bookmaker,  for  special  inducement, 
would  scratch  any  horse  in  the  race.  The  jockey 
also,  for  a  consideration,  would  slacken  speed  to 
allow  a  prearranged  winner  to  walk  in,  while  the 
judges  on  the  stand  turned  their  backs. 

It  was  just  a  swindling  trust.  And  yet,  these 
race  tracks  on  a  fine  afternoon  were  crowded 
with  intelligent  men  of  good  standing  in  the  com- 
munity, and  frequently  the  parasols  of  the  ladies 
gave  colour  and  brilliancy  to  the  scene.  Our 
most  beautiful  watering  places  were  all  but 
destroyed  by  the  race  tracks.  To  stop  all  this 
was  like  turning  back  the  ocean  tides,  so  regular 
became  the  habit  of  gambling,  of  betting,  of  being 
legally  swindled  in  America.  No  one  was  interested 
in  the  evils  of  life.  We  were  on  the  frontier  of  a 
greater  America,  a  greater  waste  of  money,  a 
greater  paradise  of  pleasure. 

Some  notice  was  taken  of  General  Grant's 
malady,  mysteriously  pronounced  incurable.  The 
bulletins  informed  us  that  his  life  might  last  a 
week,  a  day,  an  hour — and  still  the  famous  old 
warrior  kept  getting  better.  One  moment  Grant 
was  dying,  the  next  he  was  dining  heartily  at  his 
own  dinner  table.  This  was  one  of  the  mysteries 
of  the  period.  Personally,  I  believe  the  prayers 
of  the  Church  kept  him  alive. 

In  April,  1885,  the  huge  pedestal  for  the 
wonderful  statue  of  Liberty,  presented  to  us  by 


OUR   STATUE   OF   LIBERTY         149 

the  citizens  of  France,  was  started.  That  which 
Congress  had  ignored,  and  the  philanthropists  of 
America  had  neglected,  the  masses  were  doing  by 
their  modest  subscription — a  dollar  from  the  men, 
ten  cents  from  the  children.  All  Europe  wrapped 
in  war  cloud  made  the  magnificence  and  splendour 
of  our  enlightened  liberty  greater  than  ever.  It 
was  time  that  the  gates  of  the  sea,  the  front  door 
of  America,  should  be  made  more  attractive. 
Castle  Garden  was  a  gloomy  corridor  through 
which  to  arrive.  I  urged  that  the  harbour  for- 
tresses should  be  terraced  with  flowers,  fitting  the 
approach  to  the  forehead  of  this  continent  that 
Bartholdi  was  to  illumine  with  his  Coronet  of  Flame. 

The  Bartholdi  statue,  as  we  read  and  heard, 
and  talked  about  it,  became  an  inspired  impulse 
to  fine  art  in  America.  In  the  right  hand  of  the 
statue  was  to  be  a  torch  ;  in  the  left  hand,  a 
scroll  representing  the  law.  What  a  fine  con- 
ception of  true  liberty  !  It  was  my  hope  then 
that  fifty  years  after  the  statue  had  been  placed 
on  its  pedestal  the  foreign  ships  passing  Bedloe's 
Island,  by  that  allegory,  should  ever  understand 
that  in  this  country  it  is  liberty  according  to  law. 
Life,  as  we  should  live  it,  is  strong,  according  to 
our  obedience  of  its  statutes. 

In  my  boyhood  this  was  impressed  upon  me 
by  association  and  example.  When  in  May,  1885, 
Frederick  T.  Frelinghuysen,  ex-Secretary  of  State, 
died,  I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  this  fact.  I  grew 
up  in  a  neighbourhood  where  the  name  of  Freling- 
huysen was  a  synonym  for  purity  of  character  and 
integrity.  There  were  Dominie  Frelinghuysen, 
General  John  Frelinghuysen,  Senator  Theodore 
Frelinghuysen — and  Frederick  Frelinghuysen,  the 
father  of  "  Fred,"  as  he  was  always  called  in  his 
home  state.  When  I  was  a  boy,  "  Fred  "  Frey- 
linghuysen  practised  in  the  old  Somerville  Court- 


150  THE   EIGHTH   MILESTONE 

house  in  New  Jersey,  and  I  used  to  crowd  in  and 
listen  to  his  eloquence,  and  wonder  how  he  could 
have  composure  enough  to  face  so  many  people. 
He  was  the  king  of  the  New  Jersey  bar.  Never 
once  in  his  whole  lifetime  was  his  name  asso- 
ciated with  a  moral  disaster  of  any  kind.  Amid 
the  pomp  and  temptations  of  Washington 
he  remained  a  consistent  Christian.  All  the 
Frelinghuysens  were  alike — grandfather,  grand- 
son, and  uncle.  On  one  side  of  the  sea  was  the 
Prime  Minister  of  England,  Gladstone  ;  on  the 
other  side  was  Secretary  of  State  Freylinghuysen  ; 
two  men  whom  I  associate  in  mutual  friendship 
and  esteem. 

Towards  the  end  of  June,  1885,  we  were  tre- 
mendously excited.  All  one  day  long  the  cheek 
of  New  York  was  flushed  with  excitement  over 
the  arrival  of  the  Bartholdi  statue.  Bunting  and 
banners  canopied  the  harbour,  fluttered  up  and 
down  the  streets,  while  minute  guns  boomed,  and 
bands  of  music  paraded.  We  had  miraculously 
escaped  the  national  disgrace  of  not  having  a 
place  to  put  it  on  when  it  arrived.  It  was  a  gift  that 
meant  European  and  American  fraternity.  The 
$100,000  contributed  by  the  masses  for  the 
pedestal  on  Bedloe's  Island  was  an  estimate  of 
American  gratitude  and  courtesy  to  France.  The 
statue  itself  would  stand  for  ages  as  the  high- 
water  mark  of  civilisation.  From  its  top  we 
expected  to  see  the  bright  tinge  of  the  dawn  of 
universal  peace. 


THE   NINTH   MILESTONE 

1885—1886 

As  time  kept  whispering  its  hastening  call  into  my 
ear  I  grew  more  and  more  vigorous  in  my  out- 
look. I  was  given  strength  to  hurry  faster  myself, 
with  a  certain  energy  to  climb  higher  up,  where 
the  view  was  wider,  bigger,  clearer.  As  I  moved 
upward  I  had  but  one  fear,  and  that  was  of 
looking  backward.  A  minister,  entrusted  with 
the  charge  of  souls,  cannot  afford  to  retrace  his 
steps.  He  must  go  on,  and  up,  to  the  top  of  his 
abilities,  of  his  spiritual  purposes. 

In  the  midst  of  a  glorious  summer,  I  refused 
to  see  the  long  shadows  of  departing  day  ;  in 
the  midst  of  a  snow  deep  winter,  I  declined  to 
slip  and  slide  as  I  went  on.  So  it  happened  that 
a  great  many  gathered  about  me  in  the  tabernacle, 
because  they  felt  that  I  was  passing  on,  and  they 
wanted  to  see  how  fast  I  could  go.  I  aimed  always 
for  a  higher  place  and  the  way  to  get  up  to  it, 
and  I  took  them  along  with  me,  always  a  little 
further,  week  by  week. 

The  pessimists  came  to  me  and  said  that  the 
world  would  soon  have  a  surplus  of  educated 
men,  that  the  colleges  were  turning  out  many 
nerveless  and  useless  youngsters,  that  education 
seemed  to  be  one  of  the  follies  of  1885.  The  fact 
was  we  were  getting  to  be  far  superior  to  what 

151 


152  THE  NINTH  MILESTONE 

we  had  been.  The  speeches  at  the  commencement 
classes  were  much  better  than  those  we  had  made 
in  our  boyhood.  We  had  dropped  the  old  har- 
angues about  Greece  and  Rome.  We  were  talking 
about  the  present.  The  sylphs  and  naiads  and 
dryads  had  already  gone  out  of  business.  College 
education  had  been  revolutionised.  Students 
were  not  stuffed  to  the  Adam's  apple  with  Latin 
and  Greek.  The  graduates  were  improved  in 
physique.  A  great  advance  was  reached  when 
male  and  female  students  were  placed  in  the 
same  institutions,  side  by  side.  God  put  the 
two  sexes  together  in  Eden,  He  put  them  beside 
each  other  in  the  family.  Why  not  in  the 
college  ? 

There  were  those  who  seemed  to  regard  woman 
as  a  Divine  afterthought.  Judging  by  the  fashion 
plates  of  olden  times,  in  other  centuries,  the 
grand- daughters  were  far  superior  to  the  grand- 
mothers, and  the  fuss  they  used  to  make  a 
hundred  years  ago  over  a  very  good  woman  showed 
me  that  the  feminine  excellence,  so  rare  then, 
was  more  common  than  it  used  to  be.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  a  woman 
was  considered  well  educated  if  she  could  do  a 
sum  in  rule  of  three.  Look  at  the  books  in  all 
departments  that  are  under  the  arms  of  the  school 
miss  now.  I  believe  in  equal  education  for  men 
and  women  to  fulfil  the  destiny  of  this  land. 

For  all  women  who  were  then  entering  the 
battle  of  life,  I  saw  that  the  time  was  coming  when 
they  would  not  only  get  as  much  salary  as  men, 
but  for  certain  employments  they  would  receive 
higher  wages.  It  would  not  come  to  them  through 
a  spirit  of  gallantry,  but  through  the  woman's 
finer  natural  taste,  greater  grace  of  manner,  and 
keener  perceptions.  For  these  virtues  she  would 
be  worth  ten  per   cent,   more  to  her  employer 


MR.  STEAD  153 

than  a  man.    But  she  would  get  it  by  earning  it, 
not  by  asking  for  it. 

In  the  summer  of  1885  I  made  another  trip 
to  Europe.  The  day  I  reached  Charing  Cross 
station  in  London  the  exposures  of  vice  in  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette  were  just  issued.  The  paper 
had  not  been  out  half  an  hour.  Mr.  Stead,  the 
editor,  was  later  put  on  trial  for  startling  Europe 
and  America  in  his  crusade  against  crime.  There 
were  the  same  conditions  in  America,  in  Upper 
Broadway,  and  other  big  thoroughfares  in  New 
York,  by  night,  as  there  were  in  London.  I 
believe  the  greatest  safety  against  vice  is  news- 
paper chastisement  of  dishonour  and  crime.  I 
urged  that  some  paper  in  America  should  attack 
the  social  evil,  as  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  had  done. 
A  hundred  thousand  people,  with  banners  and 
music,  gathered  in  Hyde  Park  in  London,  to 
express  their  approval  of  the  reformation  started 
by  Mr.  Stead,  and  there  were  a  million  people  in 
America  who  would  have  backed  up  the  same 
moral  heroism.  If  my  voice  were  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  from  Penobscot  to  the  Rio  Grande,  I 
would  cry  out  "  Flirtation  is  damnation."  The 
vast  majority  of  those  who  make  everlasting 
shipwreck  carry  that  kind  of  sail.  The  pirates  of 
death  attack  that  kind  of  craft. 

My  mail  bag  was  a  mirror  that  reflected  all 
sides  of  the  world,  and  much  that  it  showed  me 
was  pitifully  sordid  and  reckless.  Most  of  the 
letters  I  answered,  others  I  destroyed. 

The  following  one  I  saved,  for  obvious  reasons. 
It  was  signed,  "  One  of  the  Congregation  "  : 

"  Dear  Sir, — I  do  not  believe  much  that  you 
preach,  but  I  am  certain  that  you  believe  it  all. 
To  be  a  Christian  I  must  believe  the  Bible. 
To  be  truthful,  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  go  to  hear 
you  preach  because  you  preach  the  Bible  as  I 


154  THE   NINTH  MILESTONE 

was  taught  it  in  my  youth,  by  a  father,  who,  like 
yourself,  believed  what  in  the  capacity  of  a 
preacher  he  proclaimed.  For  thirty-five  years 
I  have  been  anxious  to  walk  in  the  path  my 
mother  is  treading — a  simple  faith.  I  have  lived 
to  see  my  children's  children,  and  the  distance 
that  lies  between  me  and  my  real  estate  in  the 
graveyard,  cannot  be  very  great.  At  my  age,  it 
would  be  worse  than  folly  to  argue,  simply  to 
confound  or  dispute  merely  for  the  love  of  argu- 
ing. My  steps  are  already  tottering,  and  I  am 
lost  in  the  wilderness.  I  pray  because  I  am  afraid 
not  to  pray.  What  can  I  do  that  I  have  not 
done,  so  that  I  can  see  clearly  ?  " 

All  my  sympathies  were  excited  by  this  letter, 
because  I  had  been  in  that  quagmire  myself.  A 
student  of  Doctor  Witherspoon  once  came  to 
him  and  said,  "  I  believe  everything  is  imaginary  ! 
I  myself  am  only  an  imaginary  being."  The 
Doctor  said  to  him,  "  Go  down  and  hit  your  head 
against  the  college  door,  and  if  you  are  imaginary 
and  the  door  imaginary,  it  won't  hurt  you." 

A  celebrated  theological  professor  at  Princeton 
was  asked  this,  by  a  sceptic  : — 

"  You  say,  train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should 
go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it. 
How  do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  your  son 
is  such  a  dissipated  fellow  ?  ': 

The  doctor  replied,  "  The  promise  is,  that  when 
he  is  old,  he  will  not  depart  from  it.  My  son  is 
not  old  enough  yet."  He  grew  old,  and  his  faith 
returned.  The  Rev.  Doctor  Hall  made  the  state- 
ment that  he  discovered  in  the  biographies  of 
one  hundred  clergymen  that  they  all  had  sons 
who  were  clergymen,  all  piously  inclined.  There 
is  no  safe  way  to  discuss  religion,  save  from  the 
heart ;  it  evaporates  when  you  dare  to  analyse 
its  sacred  element. 


THE  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY      155 

I  received  multitudes  of  letters  written  by 
anxious  parents  about  sons  who  had  just  come  to 
the  city — letters  without  end,  asking  aid  for 
worthy  individuals  and  institutions,  which  I  could 
not  meet  even  if  I  had  an  income  of  $500,000  per 
annum — letters  from  men  who  told  me  that 
unless  I  sent  them  $25  by  return  mail  they  would 
jump  into  the  East  River — letters  from  people 
a  thousand  miles  away,  saying  if  they  couldn't 
raise  $1,500  to  pay  off  a  mortgage  they  would  be 
sold  out,  and  wouldn't  I  send  it  to  them — letters 
of  good  advice,  telling  me  how  to  preach,  and  the 
poorer  the  syntax  and  the  etymology  the 
more  insistent  the  command.  Many  encourag- 
ing letters  were  a  great  help  to  me.  Some  letters 
of  a  spiritual  beauty  and  power  were  magni- 
ficent tokens  of  a  preacher's  work.  Most  of 
these  letters  were  lacking  in  one  thing — Christian 
confidence.  And  yet,  what  noble  examples  there 
were  of  this  quality  in  the  world. 

What  an  example  was  exhibited  to  all,  when, 
on  October  8,  1885,  the  organ  at  Westminster 
Abbey  uttered  its  deep  notes  of  mourning,  at 
the  funeral  of  Lord  Shaftesbury,  in  England.  It 
is  well  to  remember  such  noblemen  as  he  was. 
The  chair  at  Exeter  Hall,  where  he  so  often 
presided,  should  be  always  associated  with  him. 
His  last  public  act,  at  84  years  of  age,  was  to  go 
forth  in  great  feebleness  and  make  an  earnest 
protest  against  the  infamies  exposed  by  Mr. 
Stead  in  London.  In  that  dying  speech  he  called 
upon  Parliament  to  defend  the  purity  of  the  city. 
As  far  back  as  1840,  his  voice  in  Parliament  rang 
out  against  the  oppression  of  factory  workers, 
and  he  succeeded  in  securing  better  legislation  for 
them.  He  worked  and  contributed  for  the  ragged 
schools  of  England,  by  which  over  200,000  poor 
children    of    London    were    redeemed.     He    was 


J 


156  THE  NINTH  MILESTONE 

President  of  Bible  and  Missionary  Societies,  and 
was  for  thirty  years  President  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association.  I  never  forgave  Lord 
Macaulay  for  saying  he  hoped  that  the  "  praying 
of  Exeter  Hall  would  soon  come  to  an  end." 
On  his  80th  birthday,  a  holiday  was  declared  in 
honour  of  Lord  Shaftesbury,  and  vast  multitudes 
kept  it.  From  the  Lord  Mayor  himself  to  the 
girls  of  the  Water  Cress  and  Flower  Mission,  all 
offered  him  their  congratulations.  Alfred  Ten- 
nyson, the  Poet  Laureate,  wrote  him,  "  Allow 
me  to  assure  you  in  plain  prose,  how  cordially  I 
join  with  those  who  honour  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury 
as  a  friend  of  the  poor."  And,  how  modest  was 
the  Earl's  reply. 

He  said  :  "  You  have  heard  that  which  has 
been  said  in  my  honour.  Let  me  remark  with 
the  deepest  sincerity — ascribe  it  not,  I  beseech 
you,  to  cant  and  hypocrisy — that  if  these  state- 
ments are  partially  true,  it  must  be  because 
power  has  been  given  me  from  above.  It  was  not 
in  me  to  do  these  things." 

How  constantly  through  my  life  have  I  heard 
the  same  testimony  of  the  power  that  answers 
prayer.  I  believed  it,  and  I  said  it  repeatedly, 
that  the  reason  American  politics  had  become  the 
most  corrupt  element  of  our  nation  was  because 
we  had  ignored  the  power  of  prayer.  History 
everywhere  confesses  its  force.  The  Huguenots 
took  possession  of  the  Carolinas  in  the  name  of 
God.  William  Penn  settled  Pennsylvania  in 
the  name  of  God.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  settled 
New  England  in  the  name  of  God.  Preceding  the 
first  gun  of  Bunker  Hill,  at  the  voice  of  prayer,  all 
heads  uncovered.  In  the  war  of  1812  an  officer 
came  to  General  Andrew  Jackson  and  said, 
"  There  is  an  unusual  noise  in  the  camp  ;  it  ought 
to  be  stopped."     The  General  asked  what  this 


ANDREW  JOHNSON  157 

noise  was.  He  was  told  it  was  the  voice  of 
prayer. 

"  God  forbid  that  prayer  and  praise  should  be 
an  unusual  noise  in  the  camp,"  said  General 
Jackson.     "  You  had  better  go  and  join  them." 

There  was  prayer  at  Valley  Forge,  at  Monmouth, 
at  Atlanta,  at  South  Mountain,  at  Gettysburg. 
But  the  infamy  of  politics  was  broad  and  wide, 
and  universal.  Even  the  record  of  Andrew 
Johnson,  our  seventeenth  President,  was  exhumed. 
He  was  charged  with  conspiracy  against  the 
United  States  Government.  Because  he  came 
from  a  border  State,  where  loyalty  was  more 
difficult  than  in  the  Northern  States,  he  was 
accused  of  making  a  nefarious  attack  against  our 
Government.  I  did  not  accept  these  charges. 
They  were  freighted  with  political  purpose.  I 
said  then,  in  order  to  prove  General  Grant  a  good 
man,  it  was  not  necessary  to  try  and  prove  that 
Johnson  was  a  bad  one.  The  President  from 
Tennessee  left  no  sons  to  vindicate  his  name.  I 
never  saw  President  Johnson  but  once,  but  I 
refused  to  believe  these  attacks  upon  him.  They 
were  an  unwarranted  persecution  of  the  sacred 
memory  of  the  dead.  No  man  who  has  been  emi- 
nently useful  has  escaped  being  eminently  cursed. 

At  our  local  elections  in  Brooklyn,  in  the 
autumn  of  1885,  three  candidates  for  mayor  were 
nominated.  They  were  all  exceptionally  good  men. 
Two  of  them  were  personal  friends  of  mine,  Gene- 
ral Catlin  and  Dr.  Funk.  Catlin  had  twice  been 
brevetted  for  gallantry  in  the  Civil  War,  and 
Dr.  Funk  was  on  the  prohibition  ticket,  because 
he  had  represented  prohibition  all  his  life.  Mr. 
Woodward,  the  third  candidate,  I  did  not  know, 
but  he  was  a  strict  Methodist,  and  that  was 
recommendation  enough.  But  there  were  pleasanter 
matters  to  think  about  than  politics. 


158  THE   NINTH   MILESTONE 

In  November  of  this  year,  there  appeared,  at 
the  Horticultural  Hall  in  New  York,  a  wonderful 
floral  stranger  from  China — the  chrysanthemum. 
Thousands  of  people  paid  to  go  and  see  these  con- 
stellations of  beauty.  It  was  a  new  plant  to  us  then, 
and  we  went  mad  about  it  in  true  American  fashion. 
To  walk  among  these  flowers  was  like  crossing  a 
corner  of  heaven.  It  became  a  mania  of  the  times, 
almost  like  the  tulip  mania  of  Holland  in  the 
17th  century.  People  who  had  voted  that  the 
Chinese  must  go,  voted  that  the  Chinese  chrysan- 
themum could  stay.  The  rose  was  forgotten  for 
the  time  being,  and  the  violets,  and  the  carna- 
tions, and  the  lily  of  the  valley.  In  America 
we  were  still  the  children  of  the  world,  delighted 
with  everything  that  was  new  and  beautiful. 

In  Europe,  the  war  dance  of  nations  continued. 
In  the  twenty-two  years  preceding  the  year  1820 
Christendom  had  paid  ten  billions  of  dollars  for 
battles.  The  exorbitant  taxes  of  Great  Britain 
and  the  United  States  were  results  of  war.  There 
was  a  great  wave  of  Gospel  effort  in  America 
to  counteract  the  European  war  fever.  It  per- 
meated the  legislature  in  Albany.  One  morning 
some  members  of  the  New  York  legislature  in- 
augurated a  prayer  meeting  in  the  room  of  the 
Court  of  Appeals,  and  that  meeting,  which  began 
with  six  people,  at  the  fifth  session  overflowed  the 
room.  Think  of  a  Gospel  Revival  in  the  Albany 
Legislature  !  Yet  why  not  just  such  meetings  at 
all  State  Capitals,  in  this  land  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  of  the  Huguenots,  of  the  Dutch  refor- 
mers, of  the  Hungarian  exiles  ? 

Occasionally,  we  were  inspired  by  the  record 
of  honest  political  officials.  My  friend  Thomas 
A.  Hendricks  died  when  he  was  Vice-president 
of  the  United  States  Government.  He  was  an 
honest   official,    and   yet   he   was   charged   with 


THOMAS   A.   HENDRICKS  159 

being  a  coward,  a  hypocrite,  a  traitor.  He  was 
a  great  soul.  He  withstood  all  the  temptations 
of  Washington  in  which  so  many  men  are  lost. 
I  met  him  first  on  a  lecturing  tour  in  the  West. 
As  I  stepped  on  to  the  platform,  I  said,  "  Where  is 
Governor  Hendricks  ?  "  With  a  warmth  and 
cordiality  that  came  from  the  character  of  a  man 
who  loved  all  things  that  were  true,  he  stood  up, 
and  instead  of  shaking  hands,  put  both  his  arms 
around  my  shoulders,  saying  heartily,  "  Here  I 
am."  I  went  on  with  my  lecture  with  a  certain 
pleasure  in  the  feeling  that  we  understood  each 
other.  Years  after,  I  met  him  in  his  rooms  in 
Washington,  at  the  close  of  the  first  session  as 
presiding  officer  of  the  Senate,  and  I  loved  him 
more  and  more.  Many  did  not  realise  his 
brilliancy,  because  he  had  such  poise  of  character, 
such  even  methods.  The  trouble  has  been,  with 
so  many  men  of  great  talent  in  Washington,  that 
they  stumble  in  a  mire  of  dissipation.  Mr. 
Hendricks  never  got  aboard  that  railroad  train 
so  popular  with  political  aspirants.  The  Dead 
River  Grand  Trunk  Railroad  is  said  to  have 
for  its  stations  Tippleton,  Quarrel ville,  Guzzler's 
Junction,  Debauch  Siding,  Dismal  Swamp, 
Black  Tunnel,  Murderer's  Gulch,  Hangman's 
Hollow,  and  the  terminal  known  as  Perdition. 

Mr.  Hendricks  met  one  as  a  man  ought 
always  to  meet  men,  without  any  airs  of  super- 
iority, or  without  any  appearance  of  being  bored. 
A  coal  heaver  would  get  from  him  as  polite  a 
bow  as  a  chief  justice.  He  kept  his  patience 
when  he  was  being  lied  about.  Speeches  were  put 
in  his  mouth  which  he  never  made,  interviews 
were  written,  the  language  of  which  he  never 
used.  The  newspapers  that  had  lied  about  him, 
when  he  lived,  turned  hypocrites,  and  put  their 
pages  in  mourning  rules  when  he  died.     There 


160  THE   NINTH  MILESTONE 

were  some  men  appointed  to  attend  his  memorial 
services  in  Indianopolis  on  November  30,  1885, 
whom  I  advised  to  stay  away,  and  to  employ  their 
hours  in  reviewing  those  old  campaign  speeches, 
in  which  they  had  tried  to  make  a  scoundrel  out 
of  this  man.  They  were  not  among  those  who 
could  make  a  dead  saint  of  him.  Mr.  Hendricks 
was  a  Christian,  which  made  him  invulnerable 
to  violent  attack.  For  many  years  he  was  a 
Presbyterian,  afterwards  he  became  associated 
with  the  Episcopal  Church.  His  life  began  as 
a  farmer's  boy  at  Shelbyville,  his  hands  on  the 
plough.  He  was  a  man  who  hated  show,  a  man 
whose  counsel  in  Church  affairs  was  often  sought. 
Men  go  through  life,  usually,  with  so  many  un- 
considered ideals  in  its  course,  so  many  big 
moments  in  their  lives  that  the  world  has  never 
understood. 

I  remember  I  was  in  one  of  the  western  cities 
when  the  telegram  announcing  the  death  of 
Cornelius  Vanderbilt  came,  and  the  appalling 
anxiety  on  all  sides,  for  two  days,  was  something 
unique  in  our  national  history.  It  was  an  event 
that  proved  more  than  anything  in  my  lifetime 
the  financial  convalescence  of  the  nation.  When 
it  was  found  that  no  financial  crash  followed  the 
departure  of  the  wealthiest  man  in  America,  all 
sensible  people  agreed  that  our  recuperating 
prosperity  as  a  nation  was  built  on  a  rock.  It 
had  been  a  fictitious  state  of  things  before  this. 
It  was  an  event,  which,  years  before,  would  have 
closed  one  half  of  the  banks,  and  suspended 
hundreds  of  business  firms.  The  passing  of 
$200,000,000  from  one  hand  to  another,  at  an 
earlier  period  in  our  history  would  have  shaken 
the  continent  with  panic  and  disaster. 

In  watching  where  this  $200,000,000  went  to, 
we  lost  sight  of  the  million  dollars  bequeathed 


CORNELIUS  VANDERBILT  161 

by  Mr.  Vanderbilt  to  charity.  Its  destiny  is 
worth  recalling.  $100,000  went  to  the  Home  and 
Foreign  Missionary  Society ;  $100,000  to  a 
hospital ;  $100,000  to  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  ;  $50,000  to  the  General  Theological 
Seminary ;  $50,000  for  Bibles  and  Prayer-Books  ; 
$50,000  to  the  Home  for  Incurables  ;  $50,000  to 
the  missionary  societies  for  seamen  ;  $50,000  to 
the  Home  for  Intemperates ;  $50,000  to  the 
Missionary  Society  of  New  York  ;  $50,000  to  the 
Museum  of  Art ;  $50,000  to  the  Museum  of 
Natural  History  ;  and  $100,000  to  the  Moravian 
Church.  While  the  world  at  large  was  curious 
about  the  money  Mr.  Vanderbilt  did  not  give 
to  charity,  I  celebrate  his  memory  for  this  one 
consecrated  million. 

He  was  a  railroad  king,  and  they  were  not 
popular  with  the  masses  in  1885-6.  And  yet, 
the  Grand  Central  Depot  in  New  York  and  the 
Union  Depot  in  Philadelphia,  were  the  palaces 
where  railroad  enterprise  admitted  the  public  to 
the  crowning  luxury  of  the  age.  Men  of  ordinary 
means,  of  ordinary  ability,  could  not  have 
achieved  these  things.  And  yet  it  was  necessary 
to  keep  armed  men  in  the  cemetery  to  protect 
Mr.  Vanderbilt's  remains.  This  sort  of  thing  had 
happened  before.  Winter  quarters  were  built 
near  his  tomb,  for  the  shelter  of  a  special  con- 
stabulary. Since  A.  T.  Stewart's  death,  there  had 
been  no  certainty  as  to  where  his  remains  were. 
Abraham  Lincoln's  sepulchre  was  violated.  Only 
a  week  before  Mr.  Vanderbilt's  death,  the  Phelps 
family  vault  at  Binghamton,  New  York,  was 
broken  into.  Pinkerton  detectives  surrounded  Mr. 
Vanderbilt's  body  on  Staten  Island.  Wicked- 
ness was  abroad  in  all  directions,  and  there  were 
but  fifteen  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  left 
in  which  to  redeem  the  past. 


162  THE   NINTH  MILESTONE 

In  the  summer  of  1886,  Doctor  Pasteur's 
inoculations  against  hydrophobia,  and  Doctor 
Ferron's  experiments  with  cholera,  following 
many  years  after  Doctor  Jenner's  inoculations 
against  small-pox,  were  only  segments  of  the 
circle  which  promised  an  ultimate  cure  for  all 
the  diseases  flesh  is  heir  to.  Miracles  were  amongst 
us  again.  I  had  much  more  interest  in  these 
medical  discoveries  than  I  had  in  inventions, 
locomotive  or  bellicose.  We  required  no  inven- 
tions to  take  us  faster  than  the  limited  express 
trains.  We  needed  no  brighter  light  than 
Edison's.  A  new  realm  was  opening  for  the 
doctors.  Simultaneously,  with  the  gleam  of 
hope  for  a  longer  life,  there  appeared  in  Brooklyn 
an  impudent  demand,  made  by  a  combination  of 
men  known  as  the  Brewers'  Association.  They 
wanted  more  room  for  their  beer.  The  mayor 
was  asked  to  appoint  a  certain  excise  commis- 
sioner who  was  in  favour  of  more  beer  gardens 
than  we  already  had.  They  wanted  to  rule  the 
city  from  their  beer  kegs.  In  my  opinion,  a  beer 
garden  is  worse  than  a  liquor  saloon,  because 
there  were  thousands  of  men  and  women  who 
would  enter  a  beer  garden  who  would  not  enter 
a  saloon.  The  beer  gardens  merely  prepare  new 
victims  for  the  eventual  sacrifice  of  alcoholism. 
Brooklyn  was  in  danger  of  becoming  a  city  of 
beer  gardens,  rather  than  a  city  of  churches. 

On  January  24,  1886,  the  seventeenth  year 
of  my  pastorate  of  the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle  was 
celebrated.  It  was  an  hour  for  practical  proof 
to  my  church  that  the  people  of  Brooklyn 
approved  of  our  work.  By  the  number  of  pews 
taken,  and  by  the  amount  of  premiums  paid  in, 
I  told  them  they  would  decide  whether  we  were 
to  stand  still,  to  go  backward,  or  to  go  ahead. 
We  were,  at  this  time,  unable  to  accommodate 


PROGRESS  OF  THE  GOSPEL         163 

the  audiences  that  attended  both  Sabbath  ser- 
vices. The  lighting,  the  warming,  the  artistic 
equipment,  all  the  immense  expenses  of  the 
church,  required  a  small  fortune  to  maintain  them. 
We  had  more  friends  than  the  Tabernacle  had 
ever  had  before.  At  no  time  during  my  seventeen 
years'  residence  in  Brooklyn  had  there  been  so 
much  religious  prosperity  there.  The  member- 
ships of  all  churches  were  advancing.  It  was  a 
gratifying  year  in  the  progress  of  the  Gospel  in 
Brooklyn.  It  had  been  achieved  by  constant 
fighting,  under  the  spur  of  sound  yet  inspired 
convictions.  How  close  the  events  of  secular 
prominence  were  to  the  religious  spirit,  some  of 
the  ministers  in  Brooklyn  had  managed  to  impress 
upon  the  people.  It  was  a  course  that  I  pursued 
almost  from  my  first  pastoral  call,  for  I  firmly 
believed  that  no  event  in  the  world  was  ever 
conceived  that  did  not  in  some  degree  symbolise 
the  purpose  of  human  salvation. 

When  Mr.  Parnell  returned  to  England,  I 
expected,  from  what  I  had  seen  and  what  I  knew 
of  him,  that  his  indomitable  force  would  accom- 
plish a  crisis  for  the  cause  of  Ireland.  My  opinion 
always  was  that  England  and  Ireland  would  each 
be  better  without  the  other.  Mr.  Parnell's  triumph 
on  his  return  in  January,  1886,  seemed  complete. 
He  discharged  the  Cabinet  in  England,  as  he  had 
discharged  a  previous  Cabinet,  and  he  had  much 
to  do  with  the  appointment  of  their  successors. 
I  did  not  expect  that  he  would  hold  the  sceptre, 
but  it  was  clear  that  he  was  holding  it  then  like 
a  true  king  of  Ireland. 

There  was  a  storm  came  upon  the  giant 
cedars  of  American  life  about  this  time,  which 
spread  disaster  upon  our  national  strength.  It 
was  a  storm  that  prostrated  the  Cedars  of 
Lebanon. 


164  THE  NINTH  MILESTONE 

Secretary  Frelinghuysen,  Vice-president  Hen- 
dricks, ex-Governor  Seymour,  General  Hancock, 
and  John  B.  Gough  were  the  victims.  It  was  a 
cataclysm  of  fatality  that  impressed  its  sadness 
on  the  nation.  The  three  mightiest  agencies  for 
public  benefit  are  the  printing  press,  the  pulpit, 
and  the  platform.  The  decease  of  John  B.  Gough 
left  the  platforms  of  America  without  any  orator 
as  great  as  he  had  been.  For  thirty-five  years 
his  theme  was  temperance,  and  he  died  when  the 
fight  against  liquor  was  hottest.  He  had  a  rare 
gift  as  a  speaker.  His  influence  with  an  audience 
was  unlike  that  of  any  other  of  his  contemporaries. 
He  shortened  the  distance  between  a  smile  and  a 
tear  in  oratory.  He  was  one  of  the  first,  if  not 
the  first,  American  speaker  who  introduced  dra- 
matic skill  in  his  speeches.  He  ransacked  and 
taxed  all  the  realm  of  wit  and  drama  for  his 
work.  His  was  a  magic  from  the  heart.  Dramatic 
power  had  so  often  been  used  for  the  degradation 
of  society  that  speakers  heretofore  had  assumed 
a  strict  reserve  toward  it.  The  theatre  had  claimed 
the  drama,  and  the  platform  had  ignored  it.  But 
Mr.  Gough,  in  his  great  work  of  reform  and  relief, 
encouraged  the  disheartened,  lifted  the  fallen, 
adopting  the  elements  of  drama  in  his  appeals. 
He  called  for  laughter  from  an  audience,  and  it 
came  ;  or,  if  he  called  for  tears,  they  came  as 
gently  as  the  dew  upon  a  meadow's  grass  at  dawn. 
Mr.  Gough  was  the  pioneer  in  platform  effective- 
ness, the  first  orator  to  study  the  alchemy  of 
human  emotions,  that  he  might  stir  them  first, 
and  mix  them  as  he  judged  wisely.  So  many 
people  spoke  of  the  drama  as  though  it  was 
something  built  up  outside  of  ourselves,  as  if  it 
were  necessary  for  us  to  attune  our  hearts  to  cor- 
respond with  the  human  inventions  of  the  drama- 
tists.   The  drama,  if  it  be  true  drama,  is  an  echo 


JOHN  B.  GOUGH  165 

from  something  divinely  implanted.  While  some 
conscienceless  people  take  this  dramatic  element 
and  prostitute  it  in  low  play-houses,  John  B. 
Gough  raised  it  to  the  glorious  uses  of  setting 
forth  the  hideousness  of  vice  and  the  splendour 
of  virtue  in  the  salvation  of  multitudes  of  ine- 
briates. The  dramatic  poets  of  Europe  have 
merely  dramatised  what  was  in  the  world's  heart ; 
Mr.  Gough  interpreted  the  more  sacred  dramatic 
elements  of  the  human  heart.  He  abolished  the 
old  way  of  doing  things  on  the  platform,  the 
didactic  and  the  humdrum.  He  harnessed  the 
dramatic  element  to  religion.  He  lighted  new 
fires  of  divine  passion  in  our  pulpits. 

The  new  confidence  that  this  wonderful  Cedar 
of  Lebanon  put  into  the  work  of  contemporary 
Christian  labourers  in  the  vineyard  of  sacred 
meaning  is  our  eternal  inheritance  of  his  spirit. 
He  left  us  his  confidence. 

When  you  destroy  the  confidence  of  man  in 
man,  you  destroy  society.  The  prevailing  idea 
in  American  life  was  of  a  different  character. 
National  and  civic  affairs  were  full  of  plans  to 
pull  down,  to  make  room  for  new  builders.  That 
was  the  trouble.  There  were  more  builders  than 
there  was  space  or  need  to  build.  A  little  repair- 
ing of  old  standards  would  have  been  better  than 
tearing  those  we  still  remembered  to  pieces, 
merely  to  give  others  something  to  do. 

All  this  led  to  the  betrayal  of  man  by  man — 
to  bribery.  It  was  not  of  much  use  for  the  pulpit 
to  point  it  out.  Men  adopted  bribery  as  a  means 
to  business  activity.  It  was  of  no  use  to  recall  the 
brilliant  moments  of  character  in  history,  men 
would  not  read  them.  Their  ancestry  was  a 
back  number,  the  deeds  of  their  ancestors  mere 
old-fashioned  narrowness  of  business.  What  if 
a    member    of    the    American    Congress,  Joseph 


166  THE   NINTH  MILESTONE 

Reed,  during  the  American  Revolution  did 
refuse  the  10,000  guineas  offered  by  the  foreign 
commissioners  to  betray  the  colonies  ?  What  if 
he  did  say  "  Gentlemen,  I  am  a  very  poor  man, 
but  tell  your  King  he  is  not  rich  enough  to  buy 
me"?  The  more  fool  he,  not  to  appreciate  his 
opportunities,  not  to  take  advantage  of  the 
momentary  enterprise  of  his  betters!  A  bribe 
offered  became  a  compliment,  and  a  bribe 
negotiated  was  a  good  day's  work.  I  had  not 
much  faith  in  the  people  who  went  about  bragging 
how  much  they  could  get  if  they  sold  out.  I 
refused  to  believe  the  sentiment  of  men  who 
declared  that  every  man  had  his  price. 

Old-fashioned  honesty  was  not  the  cure  either, 
because  old-fashioned  honesty,  according  to  history, 
was  not  wholly  disinterested.  There  never  was 
a  monopoly  of  righteousness  in  the  world,  though 
there  was  a  coin  of  fair  exchange  between  men 
who  were  intelligent  enough  to  perceive  its  values, 
in  which  there  was  no  alloy  of  bribery.  Bribery 
was  written,  however,  all  over  the  first  chapters 
of  English,  Irish,  French,  German,  and  Ameri- 
can politics ;  but  it  was  high  time  that,  in  America, 
we  had  a  Court  House  or  a  City  Hall,  or  a  jail,  or 
a  post  office,  or  a  railroad,  that  did  not  involve  a 
political  job.  At  some  time  in  their  lives,  every 
man  and  woman  may  be  tempted  to  do  wrong 
for  compensation.  It  may  be  a  bribe  of  position 
that  is  offered  instead  of  money  ;  but  it  was 
easy  to  foresee,  in  1886,  that  there  was  a  time 
coming  when  the  most  secret  transaction  of  pri- 
vate and  public  life  would  come  up  for  public 
scrutiny.  Those  of  us  who  gave  this  warning 
were  under  suspicion  of  being  harmless  lunatics. 

Necessarily,  the  dishonest  transactions  of  the 
bosses  led  to  discontent  among  the  labouring 
classes,  and  a  railroad  strike  came,  and  went,  in 


PUBLIC  HONESTY  167 

the  winter  of  1886.  Its  successful  adjustment 
was  a  credit  to  capital  and  labour,  to  our  police 
competency,  and  to  general  municipal  common- 
sense.  In  Chicago  and  St.  Louis,  this  strike 
lasted  several  days  ;  in  Brooklyn,  it  was  settled 
in  a  few  hours.  The  deliverance  left  us  facing  the 
problem  whether  the  differences  between  capital 
and  labour  in  America  would  ever  be  settled.  I  was 
convinced  that  it  could  never  be  accomplished 
by  the  law  of  supply  and  demand,  although  we 
were  constantly  told  so.  It  was  a  law  that  had 
done  nothing  to  settle  the  feuds  of  past  ages.  The 
fact  was  that  supply  and  demand  had  gone  into 
partnership,  proposing  to  swindle  the  earth.  It 
is  a  diabolic  law  which  will  have  to  stand  aside 
for  a  greater  law  of  love,  of  co-operation,  and  of 
kindness.  The  establishment  of  a  labour  ex- 
change, in  Brooklyn  in  1886,  where  labourers 
and  capitalists  could  meet  and  prepare  their 
plans,  was  a  step  in  that  direction. 

I  said  to  a  very  wealthy  man,  who  employed 
thousands  of  men  in  his  establishments  in 
different  cities  : 

"  Have  you  had  many  strikes  ?  ,: 

"  Never  had  a  strike;  I  never  will  have  one," 
he  said. 

"  How  do  you  avoid  them  ?"  I  asked. 

"  When  prices  go  up  or  down,  I  call  my  men 
together  in  all  my  establishments.  In  case  of 
increased  prosperity  I  range  them  around  me 
in  the  warehouses  at  the  noon  hour,  and  I  say, 
1  Boys,  I  am  making  money,  more  than  usual, 
and  I  feel  that  you  ought  to  share  my  success; 
I  shall  add  five,  or  ten,  or  twenty  per  cent,  to 
your  wages.'  Times  change.  I  must  sell  my 
goods  at  a  low  price,  or  not  sell  them  at  all.  Then 
I  say  to  them,  '  Boys,  I  am  losing  money,  and 
I  must  either  stop  altogether  or  run  on  half-time, 


168  THE  NINTH  MILESTONE 

or  do  with  less  hands.  I  thought  I  would  call 
you  together  and  ask  your  advice.'  There  may 
be  a  halt  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  one  of  the 
men  will  step  up  and  say,  '  Boss,  you  have 
been  good  to  us  ;  we  have  got  to  sympathise 
with  you.  I  don't  know  how  the  others  feel,  but 
I  propose  we  take  off  20  per  cent,  from  our  wages, 
and  when  times  get  better,  you  can  raise  us,' 
and  the  rest  agree." 

That  was  the  law  of  kindness. 

Many  of  the  best  friends  I  had  were  American 
capitalists,  and  I  said  to  them  always,  "  You 
share  with  your  employees  in  your  prosperity, 
and  they  will  share  with  you  in  your  adversity." 

The  rich  man  of  America  was  not  in  need  of 
conversion,  for,  in  1886,  he  had  not  become  a 
monopolist  as  yet.  He  had  accumulated  fortunes 
by  industry  and  hard  work,  and  he  was  an  ener- 
getic builder  of  national  enterprise  and  civic 
pride,  but  his  coffers  were  being  drained  by  an 
increasing  social  extravagance  that  was  beyond 
the  requirements  of  happiness  of  home. 


THE  TENTH  MILESTONE 

1886 

Society  life  in  the  big  cities  of  America  in  1886 
had  become  a  strange  nightmare  of  extravagance 
and  late  hours.  It  was  developing  a  queer  race 
of  people.  Temporarily,  the  Lenten  season  stopped 
the  rustle  and  flash  of  toilettes,  chained  the 
dancers,  and  put  away  the  tempting  chalice  of 
social  excitement.  When  Lent  came  in  the  society 
of  the  big  cities  of  America  was  an  exhausted 
multitude.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  two  or 
three  winters  of  germans  and  cotillions  would  be 
enough  to  ruin  the  best  of  health.  The  victims 
of  these  strange  exhaustions  were  countless.  No 
man  or  woman  could  endure  the  wear  and  tear 
of  social  life  in  America  without  sickness  and 
depletion  of  health.  The  demands  were  at  war 
with  the  natural  laws  of  the  human  race. 

Even  the  hour  set  for  the  average  assembling 
of  a  "  society  event  "  in  1886  was  an  outrage. 
Once  it  was  eight  o'clock  at  night,  soon  it  was 
adjourned  to  nine-thirty,  and  then  to  ten,  and 
there  were  threats  that  it  would  soon  be  eleven. 
A  gentleman  wrote  me  this  way  for  advice  about 
his  social  burden  : 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  We  have  many  friends, 
and  I  am  invited  out  perpetually.  I  am  on  a 
salary  in  a  large  business  house  in  New  York.     I 

169 


170  THE   TENTH  MILESTONE 

am  obliged  to  arise  in  the  morning  at  seven  o'clock, 
but  I  cannot  get  home  from  those  parties  till 
one  in  the  morning.  The  late  supper  and  the 
excitement  leave  me  sleepless.  I  must  either  give 
up  society  or  give  up  business,  which  is  my  living. 
My  wife  is  not  willing  that  I  should  give  up 
society,  because  she  is  very  popular.  My  health 
is  breaking  down.    What  shall  I  do  ?  ': 

It  was  not  the  idle  class  that  wasted  their 
nights  at  these  parties;  it  was  the  business  men 
dragged  into  the  fashions  and  foibles  of  the  idle, 
which  made  that  strange  and  unique  thing  we 
call  society  in  America. 

I  should  have  replied  to  that  man  that  his  wife 
was  a  fool.  If  she  were  willing  to  sacrifice  his 
health,  and  with  it  her  support,  for  the  greeting 
and  applause  of  these  midnight  functions,  I 
pitied  him.  Let  him  lose  his  health,  his  business, 
and  his  home,  and  no  one  would  want  to  invite 
him  anywhere.  All  the  diamond-backed  terra- 
pins at  fifty  dollars  a  dozen  which  he  might  be 
invited  to  enjoy  after  that  would  do  him  no 
harm.  Society  would  drop  him  so  suddenly  that 
it  would  knock  the  breath  out  of  him.  The  recipe 
for  a  man  in  this  predicament,  a  man  tired  of  life, 
and  who  desired  to  get  out  of  it  without  the 
reputation  of  a  suicide,  was  very  simple.  He  only 
had  to  take  chicken  salad  regularly  at  midnight, 
in  large  quantities,  and  to  wash  it  down  with 
bumpers  of  wine,  reaching  his  pillow  about  2  a.m. 
If  the  third  winter  of  this  did  not  bring  his 
obituary,  it  would  be  because  that  man  was 
proof  against  that  which  had  slain  a  host  larger 
than  any  other  that  fell  on  any  battle-field  of  the 
ages.  The  Scandinavian  warriors  believed  that 
in  the  next  world  they  would  sit  in  the  Hall  of 
Odin,  and  drink  wine  from  the  skulls  of  their 
enemies.      But   society,    by   its   requirements   of 


SOCIETY  171 

late  hours  and  conviviality,  demanded  that  a  man 
should  drink  out  of  his  own  skull,  having  rendered 
it  brainless  first.  I  had  great  admiration  for  the 
suavities  and  graces  of  life,  but  it  is  beyond  any 
human  capacity  to  endure  what  society  imposes 
upon  many  in  America.  Drinking  other  people's 
health  to  the  disadvantage  of  one's  own  health  is 
a  poor  courtesy  at  best.  Our  entertainments 
grew  more  and  more  extravagant,  more  and  more 
demoralising.  I  wondered  if  our  society  was  not 
swinging  around  to  become  akin  to  the  worst 
days  of  Roman  society.  The  princely  banquet- 
rooms  of  the  Romans  had  revolving  ceilings 
representing  the  firmament  ;  fictitious  clouds 
rained  perfumed  essences  upon  the  guests, 
who  were  seated  on  gold  benches,  at  tables  made 
of  ivory  and  tortoise-shell.  Each  course  of  food, 
as  it  was  brought  into  the  banquet  room,  was 
preceded  by  flutes  and  trumpets.  There  was  no 
wise  man  or  woman  to  stand  up  from  the  elaborate 
banquet  tables  of  American  society  at  this  time 
and  cry  "  Halt !  "  It  might  have  been  done  in 
Washington,  or  in  New  York,  or  in  Brooklyn, 
but  it  was  not. 

The  way  American  society  was  moving  in  1886 
was  the  way  to  death.  The  great  majority,  the 
major  key  in  the  weird  symphony  of  American 
life,  was  not  of  society. 

We  had  no  masses  really,  although  we  bor- 
rowed the  term  from  Europe  and  used  it  busily 
to  describe  our  working  people,  who  were  massive 
enough  as  a  body  of  men,  but  they  were  not  the 
masses.  Neither  were  they  the  mob,  which  was 
a  term  some  were  fond  of  using  in  describing  the 
destruction  of  property  on  railroads  in  the  spring 
of  1886.  The  labouring  men  had  nothing  to  do 
with  these  injuries.  They  were  done  by  the 
desperadoes  who  lurked  in  all  big  cities.     I  made 


172  THE  TENTH  MILESTONE 

a  Western  trip  during  this  strike,  and  I  found  the 
labouring  men  quiet,  peaceful,  but  idle.  The 
depots  were  filled  with  them,  the  streets  were 
filled  with  them,  but  they  were  in  suspense,  and  it 
lasted  twenty-five  days.  Then  followed  the  dark- 
ness and  squalor — less  bread,  less  comfort,  less 
civilisation  of  heart  and  mind.  It  was  hard  on 
the  women  and  children.  Senator  Manderson, 
the  son  of  my  old  friend  in  Philadelphia,  intro- 
duced a  bill  into  the  United  States  Senate 
for  the  arbitration  of  strikes.  It  proposed  a 
national  board  of  mediation  between  capital 
and  labour. 

Jay  Gould  was  the  most  abused  of  men  just 
then.  He  was  denounced  by  both  contestants 
in  this  American  conflict  most  uselessly.  The 
knights  of  Labour  came  in  for  an  equal  amount  of 
abuse.  We  were  excited  and  could  not  reason. 
The  men  had  just  as  much  right  to  band  together 
for  mutual  benefit  as  Jay  Gould  had  a  right  to  get 
rich.  It  was  believed  by  many  that  Mr.  Gould 
made  his  fortune  out  of  the  labouring  classes. 
Mr.  Gould  made  it  out  of  the  capitalists.  His 
regular  diet  was  a  capitalist  per  diem,  not  a  poor 
man — capitalist  stewed,  broiled,  roasted,  panned, 
fricaseed,  devilled,  on  the  half  shell.  He  was 
personally,  as  I  knew  him,  a  man  of  such  kindness 
that  he  would  not  hurt  a  fly,  but  he  played  ten 
pins  on  Wall  Street.  A  great  many  adventurers 
went  there  to  play  with  him,  and  if  their  ball 
rolled  down  the  side  of  the  financial  alley  while  he 
made  a  ten  strike  or  two  or  three  spares,  the  fellows 
who  were  beaten  howled.  That  was  about  all 
there  really  was  in  the  denunciation  of  Jay  Gould. 

I  couldn't  help  thinking  sometimes,  when  the 
United  States  seemed  to  change  its  smile  of  pros- 
perity to  a  sudden  smile  of  anger  or  petulance, 
that  we  were  a  spoiled  nation,  too  much  pampered 


THE  CHINESE  IN  AMERICA         173 

by  divine  blessings.  If  we  had  not  been  our  own 
rulers,  but  had  been  ruled — what  would  America 
have  been  then  ?  We  were  like  Ireland  crying  for 
liberty  and  abusing  liberty  the  more  we  got  of  it. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  policy  of  Home  Rule  for 
Ireland,  announced  in  April,  1886,  proposed  an 
Irish  Parliament  and  the  Viceroy.  It  should 
remain,  however,  a  part  of  England.  I  fully 
believed  then  that  Ireland  would  have  Home 
Rule  some  day,  and  in  another  century  I  be- 
lieved that  Ireland  would  stand  to  England  as 
the  United  States  stands  to  England,  a  friendly 
and  neighbouring  power.  I  believed  that  Ireland 
would  some  day  write  her  own  Declaration  of 
Independence.  Liberty,  the  fundamental  instinct 
of  the  most  primitive  living  thing,  would  be  the 
world's  everlasting  conflict. 

Our  exclusion  of  the  Chinese,  which  came  up 
in  the  spring  of  1886,  when  an  Ambassador  from 
China  was  roughly  handled  in  San  Francisco,  was 
a  disgrace  to  our  own  instincts  of  liberty.  A 
great  many  people  did  not  want  them  because 
they  did  not  like  the  way  they  dressed.  They 
objected  to  the  Chinaman's  queue.  George  Wash- 
ington wore  one,  so  did  Benjamin  Franklin  and 
John  Hancock.  The  Chinese  dress  was  not  worse 
than  some  American  clothes  I  have  seen.  Some 
may  remember  the  crinoline  monstrosities  of  '65, 
as  I  do — the  coal-scuttle  bonnets,  the  silver  knee- 
buckles  !  The  headgear  of  the  fair  sex  has  never 
ceased  to  be  a  mystery  and  a  shock  during  all  my 
lifetime.  I  remember  being  asked  by  a  lady- 
reporter  in  Brooklyn  if  I  thought  ladies  should 
remove  their  hats  in  the  theatre,  and  I  told  her  to 
tell  them  to  keep  them  on,  because  in  obstructing 
the  stage  they  were  accomplishing  something  worth 
while.  Any  fine  afternoon  the  spring  fashions  of 
1886,  displayed  in  Madison  Square  between  two 


174  THE   TENTH  MILESTONE 

and  four  o'clock,  were  absurdities  of  costume  that 
eclipsed  anything  then  worn  by  the  Chinese. 

The  Joss  House  of  the  Chinese  was  entitled  to 
as  much  respect  in  the  United  States,  under  the 
constitution,  as  the  Roman  Catholic  church,  or 
the  Quaker  Meeting  house,  or  any  other  religious 
temple.  A  new  path  was  made  for  the  Chinese 
into  America  via  Mexico,  when  600,000  were  to  be 
imported  for  work  on  Mexican  territory.  In  the 
discussion  it  aroused  it  was  urged  that  Mexico 
ought  to  be  blocked  because  the  Chinese  would 
not  spend  their  money  in  America.  In  one  year, 
in  San  Francisco,  the  Chinese  paid  $2,400,000  in 
rent  for  residences  and  warehouses.  Our  higher 
civilisation  was  already  threatened  with  that  style 
of  man  who  spends  three  times  more  money  than 
he  makes,  and  yet  we  did  not  want  the  thrifty 
unassuming  religious  Chinaman  to  counteract  our 
mania  for  extravagance.  This  entire  agitation 
emanated  from  corrupt  politics.  The  Republican 
and  Democratic  parties  both  wanted  the  electoral 
votes  of  California  in  the  forthcoming  Presiden- 
tial election,  and,  in  order  to  get  that  vote,  it  was 
necessary  to  oppose  the  Chinese.  Whenever 
these  Asiatic  men  obtain  equal  suffrage  in  America 
the  Republican  party  will  fondle  them,  and  the 
Democrats  will  try  to  prove  that  they  always  had 
a  deep  affection  for  them,  and  some  of  the  political 
bosses  will  go  around  with  an  opium  pipe  sticking 
out  of  their  pockets  and  their  hair  coiled  into  a 
suggestion  of  a  queue. 

The  ship  of  state  was  in  an  awful  mess.  No 
sooner  was  the  good  man  in  power  than  politics 
struggled  to  pull  him  down  to  make  room  for  the 
knaves.  When  Thomas  Jefferson  was  inaugu- 
rated, the  Sentinel  of  Boston  wrote  the  obituary 
of  the  American  nation.  I  quote  it  as  a  literary 
scrap  of  the  past  : 


CARTOONS  175 

"  Monumental  Inscription — expired  yester- 
day, regretted  by  all  good  men,  The  Federal 
Administration  of  the  Government  of  the 
United  States,  aged  12  years.  This  Monu- 
mental Inscription  to  the  virtues  and  the  services 
of  the  deceased  is  raised  by  the  Sentinel  of 
Boston." 

It  might  have  been  a  recent  editorial.  Van 
Buren  was  always  cartooned  as  a  fox  or  a  rat. 
Horace  Greeley  told  me  once  that  he  had  not  had  a 
sound  sleep  for  fifteen  years,  and  he  was  finally  put 
to  death  by  American  politics.  The  cartoons  of 
Mr.  Blaine  and  Mr.  Cleveland  during  their 
election  battle,  as  compared  to  those  of  fifty  years 
before,  were  seraphic  as  the  themes  of  Raphael. 
It  was  not  necessary  to  go  so  far  back  for  prece- 
dent. The  game  had  not  changed.  The  building 
of  our  new  Raymond  Street  jail  in  Brooklyn,  in 
1886,  was  a  game  which  the  politicians  played, 
called  "  money,  money,  who  has  got  the  money  ?  ' 
Suddenly  there  was  an  arraignment  in  the  courts. 
Mr.  Jaehne  was  incarcerated  in  Sing  Sing  for 
bribery.  Twenty-five  New  York  aldermen  were 
accused.  Nineteen  of  them  were  saloon  keepers. 
There  was  a  fearful  indifference  to  the  illiteracy  of 
our  leaders  in  1886.  It  threatened  the  national 
intelligence  of  the  future. 

In  the  rhapsody  of  May,  however,  in  the 
resurrection  of  the  superlative  beauties  of  spring, 
we  forgot  our  human  deficiencies.  In  the  first 
week  of  lilacs,  the  Americanised  flower  of  Persia, 
we  aspired  to  the  breadth  and  height  and  the 
heaven  of  our  gardens.  The  generous  lilac,  like 
a  great  purple  sea  of  loveliness,  swept  over  us  in 
the  full  tide  of  spring.  It  was  the  forerunner  of 
j°y  >  j°y  of  fish  in  the  brooks,  of  insects  in  the  air, 
of  cattle  in  the  fields,  of  wings  to  the  sky.  Sun- 
shine,   shaken   from   the   sacred  robes   of   God! 


176  THE   TENTH  MILESTONE 

Spring,    the    spiritual    essence    of    heaven    and 
physical  beauty  come  to  earth  in  many  forms — 
in  the  rose,  in  the  hawthorn  white  and  scarlet, 
in  the  passion  flower.     In  this  season  of  transition 
we  hear  the  murmurings  of  heaven.     There  were 
spring  poets  in  1886,  as  there  had  been  in  all  ages. 
Love  and  marriage  came  over  the  country  like 
a  divine  opiate,  inspired,  I  believe,  by  that  love 
story  in  the  White  House,  which  culminated  on 
June  2,    1886,    in  the  wedding   of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cleveland.     Never  in  my  knowledge  were  there  so 
many   weddings   all   over  the   United   States   as 
during  the  week  when  this  official  wedding  took 
place  in  the  White  House.     The  representatives 
of  the  foreign  Governments  in  Washington  were 
not  invited  to  Mr.  Cleveland's  wedding.     We  all 
hoped  that  they  would  not  make  such  fools  of 
themselves  as  to  protest — but  they  did.     They 
were   displeased   at  the  President's   omission  to 
invite    them      It    was    always    a    wish    of    Mr. 
Cleveland's    to    separate    the    happiness    of    his 
private  life  from  that  of  his  public  career,  so  as  to 
protect  Mrs.  Cleveland  from  the  glare  to  which 
he  himself  was  exposed.     His  wedding  was  an 
intimate,  private  matter  to  him,  and  if  there  is 
any  time  in  a  man's  life  when  he  ought  to  do  as  he 
pleases  it  is  when  he  gets  married.     It  was  a 
remarkable  wedding  in  some  respects,  remarkable 
for  its  love  story,  for  its  distinguished  character, 
its  American  privacy,  its  independent  spirit.     The 
whole  country  was  rapturously  happy  over  it. 
The  foreign  ministers   who  growled  might  have 
benefited  by  the  example  of  Americanism  in  the 
affair.       Even    the    reporters,     none    of    whom 
were  invited,  were  happy  over  it,  and  gave  a  more 
vivid  account  of  the  joyous  scene  than  they  could 
have  given  had  they  been  present. 

The  difference  in  the  ages  of  the  President  and 


A  WEDDING  IN  THE  WHITE  HOUSE  177 

his  beautiful  bride  was  widely  discussed.  Into 
the  garland  of  bridal  roses  let  no  one  ever  twist  a 
sprig  of  night-shade.  If  49  would  marry  22, 
if  summer  is  fascinated  with  spring,  whose  busi- 
ness is  it  but  their  own  ?  Both  May  and  August 
are  old  enough  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and 
their  marriage  is  the  most  noteworthy  moment  of 
their  too  short  season  of  life.  Some  day  her 
voice  is  silenced,  and  the  end  of  the  world  has 
come  for  him — the  morning  dead,  the  night  dead, 
the  air  dead,  the  world  dead.  For  his  sake,  for 
her  sake,  do  not  spoil  their  radiance  with  an 
impious  regret.  They  will  endure  the  thorns  of 
life  when  they  are  stronger  in  each  other's  love. 

That  June  wedding  at  the  White  House  was  the 
nucleus  of  happiness,  from  which  grew  a  great 
wave  of  matrimony.  The  speed  of  God's  will  was 
increasing  in  America.  Most  of  the  things  man- 
aged by  divine  instinct  are  characterised  by 
speed — rapid  currents,  swift  lightnings,  swift 
coming  and  going  of  lives.  In  the  old-fashioned 
days  a  man  got  a  notion  that  there  was  sanctity 
in  tardiness.  It  was  a  great  mistake.  In  America 
we  had  arrived  at  that  state  of  mind  when  we 
wanted  everything  fast — first  and  fast.  Fast 
horses,  fast  boats,  fast  runners  are  all  good  things 
for  the  human  race. 

The  great  yacht  races  of  September  7,  1886, 
in  which  the  "  May  Flower "  distanced  the 
"  Galatea "  by  two  miles  and  a  half,  was  a 
spanking  race.  Our  sporting  blood  was  roused  to 
righting  pitch,  and  we  became  more  active  in  every 
way  of  outdoor  sports.  Lawn  tennis  tournaments 
were  epidemic  all  over  the  country.  There  were 
good  and  bad  effects  from  all  of  them.  Those 
romping  sports  developed  a  much  finer  physical 
condition  in  our  American  women.  Lawn  tennis 
and  croquet  were  hardening  and  beautifying  the 


178  THE   TENTH   MILESTONE 

race.  From  the  English  and  German  women  we 
adopted  athletics  for  our  own  women.  Our  girls 
began  to  travel  more  frequently  in  Europe.  It 
looked  as  though  many  of  the  young  ladies  who 
prided  themselves  upon  their  bewitching  languors 
and  fashionable  dreaminess,  would  be  neglected 
by  young  men  in  favour  of  the  more  athletic  types. 
It  had  been  decided,  in  the  social  channels  of  our 
life,  that  doll  babies  were  not  of  much  use  in  the 
struggle,  that  women  must  have  the  capacity 
and  the  strength  to  sweep  out  a  room  without 
fainting  ;  that  to  make  an  eatable  loaf  of  bread 
was  more  important  than  the  satin  cheek  or  the 
colour  of  hair  that  one  strong  fever  could  uproot. 
I  was  accused  of  being  ambitious  that  Americans 
should  have  a  race  of  Amazons.  I  was  not.  I 
did  want  them  to  have  bodies  to  fit  their  great 
souls.  What  I  did  wish  to  avoid,  in  this  natural 
transition,  was  a  misdirected  use  of  its  advantages. 
There  is  dissipation  in  outdoor  life,  as  well  as 
indoors,  and  this  was  to  be  deplored.  I  wanted 
everything  American  to  come  out  ahead. 

In  science  we  were  still  far  behind.  The 
Charleston  earthquake  in  September,  1886,  proved 
this.  Our  philosophers  were  disgusted  that  the 
ministers  and  churches  down  there  devoted  their 
time  to  praying  and  moralising  about  the  earth- 
quake, when  only  natural  phenomena  were  the 
cause.  Science  had  no  information  or  comfort 
to  give,  however.  The  only  thing  the  scientist 
did  was  to  predict  a  great  tidal  wave  which  would 
come  and  destroy  all  that  was  left  of  the  previous 
calamity.  Science  lied  again.  The  tidal  wave 
did  not  come  ;  the  September  rains  stopped,  and 
Charleston  began  to  rebuild.  That  is  one  of  the 
wonderful  things  about  America ;  we  are  not 
only  able  to  restore  our  damages,  but  we  have  a 
mania  for  rebuilding.     Our  chief  fault  lies  in  the 


POLITICAL  SINCERITY  179 

fact  that  we  rebuild  for  profit  rather  than  for 
beauty  of  character  or  moral  strength. 

There  had  been  a  time  during  my  pastorate 
when  Brooklyn  promised  to  be  the  greatest  water- 
ing place  in  America.  We  were  in  a  fair  way  of 
becoming  the  summer  capital  of  the  United  States. 
It  was  destroyed  by  the  loafers  and  the  dissolute- 
ness of  Coney  Island.  In  the  autumn  of  1886, 
Brooklyn  was  more  indignant  than  I  had  ever 
seen  it  before,  and  I  knew  it  intimately  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  Our  trade  was  damaged, 
our  residences  were  depreciated,  because  the 
gamblers  and  liquor  dealers  were  in  power.  Part 
of  the  summer  people  were  too  busy  looking  for 
a  sea  serpent  reported  to  be  in  the  East  River 
or  up  the  Hudson  to  observe  that  a  Dragon  of 
Evil  was  twining  about  the  neck  and  waist  and 
body  of  the  two  great  cities  by  the  sea. 

In  contrast  to  all  this  political  treachery  in 
the  North  there  developed  a  peculiar  symbol  of 
political  sincerity  in  Tennesee.  Two  brothers, 
Robert  and  Alfred  Taylor,  were  running  for 
Governor  of  that  State — one  on  the  Republican 
and  the  other  on  the  Democratic  ticket.  At 
night  they  occupied  the  same  room  together. 
On  the  same  platform  they  uttered  sentiments 
directly  opposite  in  meaning.  And  yet,  Robert 
said  to  a  crowd  about  to  hoot  his  brother  Alfred, 
4  When  you  insult  my  brother  you  insult  me." 
This  was  a  symbol  of  political  decency  that  we 
needed.  One  of  the  great  wants  of  the  world, 
however,  was  a  better  example  in  "  high  life." 
We  were  shocked  by  the  moral  downfall  of  Sir 
Charles  Dilke  in  England,  by  the  dissolute  con- 
duct of  an  American  official  in  Mexico,  by  the 
dissipations  of  a  Senator  who  attempted  to 
address  the  United  States  Senate  in  a  state  of 
intoxication. 


180  THE   TENTH   MILESTONE 

Mr.  Cleveland's  frequent  exercise  of  the  Pre- 
sident's right  of  veto  was  a  hopeful  policy  in 
national  affairs.  The  habit  of  voting  away 
thousands  of  dollars  of  other  people's  money  in 
Congress  needed  a  check.  The  popular  means  of 
accomplishing  this  out  of  the  national  treasury 
was  in  bills  introduced  by  Congressmen  for  public 
buildings.  Each  Congressman  wanted  to  favour 
the  other.  The  President's  veto  was  the  only 
cure.  This  prodigality  of  the  National  Legisla- 
ture grew  out  of  an  enormous  surplus  in  the 
Treasury.  It  was  too  great  a  temptation  to  the 
law-makers.  $70,000,000  in  a  pile  added  to  a 
reserve  of  $100,000,000  was  an  infamous  lure. 
I  urged  that  this  money  should  be  turned  back  to 
the  people  to  whom  it  belonged.  The  Government 
had  no  more  right  to  it  than  I  had  to  five  dollars 
of  overpay,  and  yet,  by  over-taxation,  the  Govern- 
ment had  done  the  same  sort  of  thing.  This 
money  did  not  belong  to  the  Government,  but  to 
the  people  from  whom  they  had  taken  it.  From 
private  sources  in  Washington  I  learned  that 
officials  were  overwhelmed  with  demands  for 
pensions  from  first-class  loafers  who  had  never 
been  of  any  service  to  their  country  before  or 
since  the  war.  They  were  too  lazy  or  cranky  to 
work  for  themselves.  Grover  Cleveland  vetoed 
them  by  the  hundred.  We  needed  the  veto 
power  in  America  as  much  as  the  Roman  Govern- 
ment had  required  it  in  their  tribunes.  Poland 
had  recognised  it.  The  Kings  of  Norway,  Sweden, 
and  the  Netherlands  had  used  it.  With  the 
exception  of  two  states  in  the  Union,  all  the 
American  Governors  had  the  privilege.  Because  a 
railroad  company  buys  up  a  majority  of  the  legis- 
lature there  is  no  reason  why  a  Governor  should 
sign  the  charter.  There  was  no  reason  why 
the  President  should  make  appointments    upon 


THE  WAR  RAGE  OF  EUROPE       181 

indiscriminate  claims  because  the  ante-room  of  the 
White  House  was  filled  with  applicants,  as  they 
were  in  Cleveland's  first  administration.  My 
sympathies  were  with  the  grand  army  men 
against  these  pretenders. 

What  a  waste  of  money  it  seemed  to  me  there 
was  in  keeping  up  useless  American  embassies 
abroad.  They  had  been  established  when  it  took 
six  weeks  to  go  to  Liverpool  and  six  months  to 
China,  so  that  it  was  necessary  to  have  represen- 
tation at  the  foreign  courts.  As  far  back  as  1866 
it  was  only  half  an  hour  from  Washington  to 
London,  to  Berlin,  to  Madrid.  I  have  seen  no 
crisis  in  any  of  these  foreign  cities  which  made  our 
ambassadors  a  necessity  there.  International 
business  could  be  managed  by  the  State  Depart- 
ment. The  foreign  embassy  was  merely  a  good 
excuse  to  get  rid  of  some  competent  rival  for  the 
Presidency.  The  cable  was  enough  Minister 
Plenipotentiary  for  the  United  States,  and 
always  should  be.  I  regarded  it  as  humiliating  to 
the  constitution  of  the  United  States  that  we 
should  be  complimenting  foreign  despotism  in  this 
way. 

The  war  rage  of  Europe  was  destined  to  make  a 
market  for  our  bread  stuff  in  1886,  but  at  the  cost 
of  further  suffering  and  disaster.  I  have  no 
sentimentality  about  the  conflicts  of  life,  because 
the  Bible  is  a  history  of  battles  and  hand  to  hand 
struggles,  but  war  is  no  longer  needed  in  the 
world.  War  is  a  system  of  political  greed  where 
men  are  hired  at  starvation  wages  to  kill  each 
other.  Could  there  be  anything  more  savage  ? 
It  is  the  inoffensive  who  are  killed,  while  the 
principals  in  the  quarrel  sit  snugly  at  home  on 
throne  chairs. 

A  private  letter,  I  think  it  was,  written  during 
the  Crimean  war  by  a  sailor  to  his  wife,  describing 


182  THE  TENTH  MILESTONE 

his  sensations  after  having  killed  a  man  for  the 
first  time,  is  a  unique  demonstration  of  the 
psychology  of  the  soldier's  fate. 

The  letter  said  : — 

"We  were  ordered  to  fire,  and  I  took  steady  aim 
and  fired  on  my  man  at  a  distance  of  sixty  yards. 
He  dropped  like  a  stone,  at  the  same  instant 
a  broadside  from  the  ship  scattered  among  the 
trees,  and  the  enemy  vanished,  we  could  scarcely 
tell  how.  I  felt  as  though  I  must  go  up  to  the 
man  I  had  fired  upon  to  see  if  he  were  dead  or 
alive.  I  found  him  quite  still,  and  I  was  more 
afraid  of  him  when  I  saw  him  lying  so  than  when 
he  stood  facing  me  a  few  minutes  before.  It  is 
a  strange  feeling  that  comes  over  you  all  at  once 
when  you  have  killed  a  man.  He  had  unfastened 
his  jacket,  and  was  pressing  his  hand  against  his 
chest  where  the  wound  was.  He  breathed  hard, 
and  the  blood  poured  from  the  wound  and  his 
mouth  at  every  breath.  His  face  was  white  as 
death,  and  his  eyes  looked  big  and  bright  as  he 
turned  them  staring  up  at  me.  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  He  was  a  fine  young  fellow,  not  over 
five  and  twenty.  I  knelt  beside  him  and  I  felt 
as  though  my  heart  would  burst.  He  had  an 
English  face  and  did  not  look  like  my  enemy.  If 
my  life  could  have  saved  his  I  would  have  given 
it.  I  held  his  head  on  my  knee  and  he  tried  to 
speak,  but  his  voice  was  gone.  I  could  not  under- 
stand a  word  that  he  said.  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
say  that  I  was  worse  than  he,  for  he  never  shed 
a  tear  and  I  did.  I  was  wondering  how  I  could 
bear  to  leave  him  to  die  alone,  when  he  had  some 
sort  of  convulsions,  then  his  head  rolled  over  and 
with  a  sigh  he  was  gone.  I  laid  his  head  gently 
on  the  grass  and  left  him.  It  seemed  so  strange 
when  I  looked  at  him  for  the  last  time.  I  some- 
how thought  of  everything  I  had  ever  read  about 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  A  SOLDIER'S  FATE  183 

the  Turks  and  the  Russians,  and  the  rest  of 
them,  but  all  that  seemed  so  far  off,  and  the 
dead  man  so  near." 

This  was  the  secret  tragedy  of  the  common 
fraternity  of  manhood  driven  by  custom  into  a 
sham  battle  of  death.  The  European  war  of 
1886  was  a  conflict  of  Slav  and  Teuton.  France 
will  never  forgive  Germany  for  taking  Alsace  and 
Lorraine.  It  was  a  surrender  to  Germany  of 
what  in  the  United  States  would  be  equal  to  the 
surrender  of  Philadelphia  and  Boston,  with  vast 
harvest  fields  in  addition.  France  wanted  to 
blot  out  Sedan.  England  desired  to  keep  out 
of  the  fight  upon  a  naval  report  that  she  was  un- 
prepared for  war.  The  Danes  were  ready  for 
insurrection  against  their  own  Government.  Only 
3,000  miles  of  Atlantic  Ocean  and  great  wisdom 
of  Washington  kept  us  out  of  the  fight.  The 
world's  statesmanship  at  this  time  was  the  greatest 
it  had  ever  known.  There  was  enough  of  it  in 
St.  Petersburg,  Berlin,  Rome,  Paris,  and  London 
to  have  achieved  a  great  progress  for  peace  by 
arbitration  and  treaty,  but  there  was  no  precedent 
by  which  to  judge  the  effect  of  such  a  plan.  The 
nations  had  never  before  had  such  vast  popula- 
tions to  change  into  armies.  The  temptations  of 
war  were  irresistible. 

In  America,  remotely  luxurious  in  our  own  pros- 
perity from  the  rest  of  the  world,  we  became  self- 
absorbed.  The  fashions,  designed  and  inspired  in 
Europe,  became  the  chief  element  of  attraction 
among  the  ladies.  It  was  particularly  noticeable 
in  the  autumn  of  1886  for  the  brilliancy  and 
grandeur  of  bird  feathers.  The  taxidermist's 
art  was  adapted  to  women's  gowns  and  hats  to  a 
degree  that  amazed  the  country.  A  precious 
group  of  French  actresses,  some  of  them  divorced 
two   or   three   times,    with   a   system   of   morals 


184  THE  TENTH  MILESTONE 

entirely  independent  of  the  ten  commandments, 
were  responsible  for  this  outbreak  of  bird  millinery 
in  America.  From  one  village  alone  70,000  birds 
were  sent  to  New  York  for  feminine  adornment. 

The  whole  sky  full  of  birds  was  swept  into  the 
millinery  shops.  A  three  months  foraging  trip 
in  South  Carolina  furnished  11,000  birds  for  the 
market  of  feathers.  One  sportsman  supplied 
10,000  aigrettes.  The  music  of  the  heavens  was 
being  destroyed.  Paris  was  supplied  by  con- 
tracts made  in  New  York.  In  one  month  a 
million  bobolinks  were  killed  near  Philadelphia. 
Species  of  birds  became  extinct.  In  February  of 
this  year  I  saw  in  one  establishment  2,000,000 
bird  skins.  One  auction  room  alone,  in  three 
months,  sold  3,000,000  East  India  bird  skins,  and 
1,000,000  West  India  and  Brazilian  feathers. 

A  newspaper  description  of  a  lady's  hat  in  1886 
was  to  me  savage  in  the  extreme.  I  quote  one  of 
many  : 

"She had  a  whole  nest  of  sparkling,  scintillating 
birds  in  her  hat,  which  would  have  puzzled  an 
ornithologist  to  classify." 

Here  is  another  one  I  quote  : 

"  Her  gown  of  unrelieved  black  was  looped  up 
with  blackbirds  and  a  winged  creature  so  dusky 
that  it  could  have  been  intended  for  nothing  but 
a  crow  reposed  among  the  strands  of  her  hair." 

Public  sentiment  in  American  womanhood 
eventually  rescued  the  songsters  of  the  world — 
in  part,  at  any  rate.  The  heavenly  orchestra, 
with  its  exquisite  prelude  of  dawn  and  its  tremu- 
lous evensong,  was  spared. 

Many  years  ago  Thomas  Carlyle  described  us 
as  "  forty  million  Americans,  mostly  fools." 
He  declared  we  would  flounder  on  the  ballot-box, 
and  that  the  right  of  suffrage  would  be  the  ruin  of 
this  Government.     The  "  forty  million  of  fools  " 


AMERICAN  EVOLUTION  185 

had  done  tolerably  well  for  the  small  amount  of 
brain  Carlyle  permitted  them. 

Better  and  better  did  America  become  to  me  as 
the  years  went  by.  I  never  wanted  to  live  any- 
where else.  Many  believed  that  Christ  was  about 
to  return  to  His  reign  on  earth,  and  I  felt  confident 
that  if  such  a  divine  descent  could  be,  it  would 
come  from  American  skies.  I  did  not  believe 
that  Christ  would  descend  from  European  skies, 
amidst  alien  thrones.  I  foresaw  the  time  when 
the  Democracy  of  Americans  would  be  lifted  so 
that  the  President's  chair  could  be  set  aside  as  a 
relic  ;  when  penitentiaries  would  be  broken-down 
ruins  ;  almshouses  forsaken,  because  all  would 
be  rich,  and  hospitals  abandoned,  because  all 
would  be  well. 

If  Christ  were  really  coming,  as  many  believed, 
the  moment  of  earthly  paradise  was  at  hand. 


THE  ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

1886—1887 

The  balance  of  power  in  Brooklyn  and  New  York 
during  my  lifetime  had  always  been  with  the  pul- 
pit. I  was  in  my  fifty-fourth  year,  and  had  shared 
honours  with  the  most  devout  and  fearless 
ministers  of  the  Gospel  so  long  that  when  two 
monster  receptions  were  proposed,  in  celebration 
of  the  services  of  Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and 
Rev.  R.  S.  Storrs,  D.D.,  I  became  almost  wickedly 
proud  of  the  privileges  of  my  associations.  These 
two  eminent  men  were  in  the  seventies.  Dr. 
Storrs  had  been  installed  pastor  of  the  Church  of 
Pilgrims  in  1846  ;  Mr.  Beecher  pastor  of  Plymouth 
Church  in  1847.  They  were  both  stalwart  in 
body  then,  both  New  Englanders,  both  Congre- 
gationalists,  mighty  men,  genial  as  a  morning 
in  June.  Both  world-renowned,  but  different. 
Different  in  stature,  in  temperament,  in  theology. 
They  had  reached  the  fortieth  year  of  pastoral 
service.  No  movement  for  the  welfare  of  Brooklyn 
in  all  these  years  was  without  the  benediction  of 
their  names. 

The  pulpit  had  accomplished  wonders.  In  Brook- 
lyn alone  look  at  the  pulpit-builders.  There  were 
Rev.  George  W.  Bethune  of  the  Dutch  Reformed 
Church,  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  H.  Cox,  Rev.  W. 
Ichabod  Spencer,  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  Thayer  Speer 

186 


PULPIT   BUILDERS  187 

of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  Dr.  John  Summerfield 
and  Dr.  Kennedy  of  the  Methodist  Church,  Rev. 
Dr.  Stone  and  Rev.  Dr.  Vinton  of  the  Episcopal 
Church — all  denominations  pouring  their  elements 
of  divine  splendour  upon  the  community.  Who 
can  estimate  the  power  which  emanated  from 
the  pulpits  of  Dr.  McElroy,  or  Dr.  DeWitt, 
or  Dr.  Spring,  or  Dr.  Krebs?  Their  work  will 
go  on  in  New  York  though  their  churches  be 
demolished.  Large-hearted  men  were  these  pulpit 
apostles,  apart  from  the  clerical  obligations  of 
their  denominations.  No  proverb  in  the  world 
is  so  abused  as  the  one  which  declares  that  the 
children  of  ministers  never  turn  out  well.  They 
hold  the  highest  places  in  the  nation.  Grover 
Cleveland  was  the  son  of  a  Presbyterian  clergy- 
man, Governor  Pattison  of  Pennsylvania,  Gover- 
nor Taylor  of  Tennessee,  were  sons  of  Metho- 
dist preachers.  In  congressional  and  legislative 
halls  they  are  scattered  everywhere. 

Of  all  the  metaphysical  discourses  that  Mr. 
Beech er  delivered,  none  are  so  well  remembered 
as  those  giving  his  illustrations  of  life,  his  anec- 
dotes. Much  of  his  pulpit  utterance  was  devoted 
to  telling  what  things  were  like.  So  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  was  written,  full  of  similitudes.  Like 
a  man  who  built  his  house  on  a  rock,  like  a  candle 
in  a  candle-stick,  like  a  hen  gathering  her  chickens 
under  her  wing,  like  a  net,  like  salt,  like  a 
city  on  a  hill.  And  you  hear  the  song  birds, 
and  you  smell  the  flowers.  Mr.  Beecher's 
grandest  effects  were  wrought  by  his  illustrations, 
and  he  ransacked  the  universe  for  them.  We 
need  in  our  pulpits  just  such  irresistible  illustra- 
tions, just  such  holy  vivacity.  His  was  a  victory 
of  similitudes. 

Towards  the  end  of  November,  1886,  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  sons  of  a  Baptist  preacher, 


188      THE   ELEVENTH   MILESTONE 

Chester  A.  Arthur,  died.  He  had  arisen  to  the 
highest  point  of  national  honour,  and  preserved 
the  simplicities  of  true  character.  When  I  was 
lecturing  in  Lexington,  Kentucky,  one  summer, 
I  remember  with  what  cordiality  he  accosted  me 
in  a  crowd. 

"Are  you  here?"  he  said;  "why,  it  makes 
me  feel  very  much  at  home." 

Mr.  Arthur  aged  fifteen  years  in  the  brief  span  of 
his  administration.  He  was  very  tired.  Almost 
his  last  words  were,  "  Life  is  not  worth  living." 
Our  public  men  need  sympathy,  not  criticism. 
Macaulay,  after  all  his  brilliant  career  in  Parlia- 
ment, after  being  world-renowned  among  all  who 
could  admire  fine  writing,  wrote  this  : 

"  Every  friendship  which  a  man  may  have 
becomes  precarious  as  soon  as  he  engages  in 
politics." 

Political  life  is  a  graveyard  of  broken  hearts. 
Daniel  Webster  died  of  a  broken  heart  at  Marsh- 
field.  Under  the  highest  monument  in  Kentucky 
lies  Henry  Clay,  dead  of  a  broken  heart.  So  died 
Henry  Wilson,  at  Natick,  Mass.;  William  H. 
Seward  at  Auburn,  N.Y.  ;  Salmon  P.  Chase,  in 
Cincinnati.  So  died  Chester  A.  Arthur,  honoured, 
but  worried. 

The  election  of  Abram  S.  Hewitt  as  mayor  of  New 
York  in  1886  restored  the  confidence  of  the  best 
people.  Behind  him  was  a  record  absolutely 
beyond  criticism,  before  him  a  great  Christian 
opportunity.  We  made  the  mistake,  however, 
of  ignoring  the  great  influence  upon  our  civic 
prosperity  of  the  business  impulse  of  the  West. 
We  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn  were  a  self- 
satisfied  community,  unmindful  of  our  depend- 
ence upon  the  rest  of  the  American  continent. 
My  Western  trips  were  my  recreation.  An 
occasional  lecture  tour  accomplished  for  me  what 


LECTURING  A  RECREATION       189 

yachting  or  baseball  does  for  others.  My  con- 
gregation understood  this,  and  never  complained 
of  my  absence.  They  realised  that  all  things  for 
me  turned  into  sermons.  No  man  sufficiently 
appreciates  his  home  unless  sometimes  he  goes 
away  from  it.  It  made  me  realise  what  a  number 
of  splendid  men  and  women  there  were  in  the 
world  Man  as  a  whole  is  a  great  success  ;  woman, 
taking  her  all  in  all,  is  a  great  achievement,  and 
the  reason  children  die  is  because  they  are  too 
lovely  to  stay  out  of  paradise. 

Three  weeks  in  the  West  brought  me  back  to 
Brooklyn  supremely  optimistic.  There  was  more 
business  in  the  markets  than  men  could  attend  to. 
Times  had  changed.  In  Cincinnati  once  I  was 
perplexed  by  the  difference  in  clock  time.  They 
have  city  time  and  railroad  time  there.  I  asked 
a  gentleman  about  it. 

"  Tell  me,  how  many  kinds  of  time  have  you 
here  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Three  kinds,"  he  replied, 
"  city  time,  railroad  time,  and  hard  time." 

There  was  no  "  hard  time  "  at  the  close  of  1886. 
The  small  rate  of  interest  we  had  been  compelled 
to  take  for  money  had  been  a  good  thing.  It  had 
enlivened  investments  in  building  factories  and 
starting  great  enterprises.  The  2  per  cent,  per 
month  interest  was  dead.  The  fact  that  a  few 
small  fish  dared  to  swim  through  Wall  Street,  only 
to  be  gobbled  up,  did  not  stop  the  rising  tide  of 
national  welfare.  We  were  going  ahead,  gaining, 
profiting  even  by  the  lives  of  those  who  were 
leaving  us  behind. 

The  loss  of  the  Rev.  J.  Hyatt  Smith  restored 
the  symbol  and  triumph  of  self-sacrifice.  In  the 
most  exact  sense  of  the  word  he  was  a  genius. 
He  wasted  no  time  in  his  study  that  he  could 
devote  to  others,  he  was  always  busy  raising 
money  to  pay  house  rent  for  some  poor  woman. 


190       THE  ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

exhausting  his  energies  in  trying  to  keep  people 
out  of  trouble,  answering  the  call  of  every  school, 
of  every  reformatory,  every  philanthropic  institu- 
tion. Had  he  given  more  time  to  study,  he 
would  hardly  have  had  an  equal  in  the  American 
pulpit.  He  depended  always  upon  the  inspiration 
of  the  moment.  Sometimes  he  failed  on  this 
account.  I  have  heard  him  when  he  had  the 
pathos  of  a  Summerfield,  the  wit  of  a  Sidney 
Smith,  and  the  wondrous  thundering  phraseology 
of  a  Thomas  Carlyle.  He  had  been  everywhere, 
seen  everything,  experienced  great  variety  of 
gladness,  grief,  and  betrayal.  If  you  had  lost  a 
child,  he  was  the  first  man  at  your  side  to  console 
you.  If  you  had  a  great  joy,  his  was  the  first 
telegram  to  congratulate  you.  For  two  years  he 
was  in  Congress.  His  Sundays  in  Washington 
were  spent  preaching  in  pulpits  of  all  denomi- 
nations. The  first  time  I  ever  saw  him  was  when 
he  came  to  my  house  in  Philadelphia,  ringing  the 
door  bell,  that  he  might  assuage  a  great  sorrow 
that  had  come  to  me.  He  was  always  in  the 
shadowed  home.  How  much  the  world  owes  to 
such  a  nature  is  beyond  the  world's  gift  to  return. 
His  wit  was  of  the  kind  that,  like  the  dew, 
refreshes.  He  never  laughed  at  anything  but 
that  which  ought  to  be  laughed  at.  He  never 
dealt  in  innuendoes  that  tipped  both  ways.  We 
were  old  friends  of  many  vicissitudes.  Together 
we  wept  and  laughed  and  planned.  He  had  such 
subtle  ways  of  encouragement — as  when  he  told 
me  that  he  had  read  a  lecture  of  mine  to  his  dying 
daughter,  and  described  how  it  had  comforted 
her.  His  was  a  life  of  profound  self-sacrifice,  but 
"  weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh 
in  the  morning." 

The  new  year  of  1887  began  with  a  controversy 
that  filled  the  air  with  unpleasant  confusion.     A 


MORAL   EARTHQUAKES  191 

small  river  of  ink  was  poured  upon  it,  a  vast 
amount  of  talk  was  made  about  it.  A  priest  in 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  Father  McGlynn,  was 
arraigned  by  Archbishop  Corrigan  for  putting  his 
hand  in  the  hot  water  of  politics.  In  various 
ways  I  was  asked  my  opinion  of  it  all.  My  most 
decided  opinion  was  that  outsiders  had  better 
keep  their  hands  out  of  the  trouble.  The  inter- 
ference of  people  outside  of  a  church  with  its 
internal  affairs  only  makes  things  worse.  The 
policy  of  any  church  is  best  known  by  its  own 
members.  The  controversy  was  not  a  matter 
into  which  I  could  consistently  enter. 

The  earth  began  its  new  year  in  hard  luck. 
The  earthquake  in  Constantinople,  in  February, 
was  only  one  of  a  series  of  similar  shakes  else- 
where. The  scientists  were  always  giving  us  a 
lot  of  trouble.  Electric  showers  in  the  sun  dis- 
turbed our  climate.  Comets  had  been  shooting 
about  the  sky  with  enough  fire  in  their  tails  to 
obliterate  us.  Caracas  was  shaken,  Lisbon  buried, 
Java  very  badly  cracked.  It  is  a  shaky,  rheumatic, 
epileptic  old  world,  and  in  one  of  its  stupendous 
convulsions  it  will  die.  It's  a  poor  place  in  which 
to  make  permanent  investments.  It  was  quite  as 
insecure  in  its  human  standards  as  in  its  scientific 
incompetence. 

Our  laws  were  moral  earthquakes  that  des- 
troyed our  standards.  We  were  opposed  to  sneak 
thieves,  but  we  admired  the  two  million  dollar 
rascals.  Why  not  a  tax  of  five  or  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  license  the  business  of  theft,  so  that  we 
might  put  an  end  to  the  small  scoundrels  who  had 
genius  enough  only  to  steal  door  mats,  or  postage 
stamps,  or  chocolate  drops,  ard  confine  the 
business  to  genteel  robbery  ?  A  robber  paying  a 
privilege  of  ten  thousand  dollars  would  then  be 
able    legally    to    abscond    with    fifty    thousand 


192       THE   ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

dollars  from  a  bank;  or,  by  watering  the  stock  of 
a  railroad,  he  would  be  entitled  to  steal  two  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  at  a  clip.  The  thief's 
licence  ought  to  be  high,  because  he  would  so 
soon  make  it  up. 

A  licence  on  blasphemy  might  have  been  equally 
advantageous.  It  could  be  made  high  enough 
so  that  we  could  sweep  aside  all  those  who  swear 
on  a  small  scale,  those  who  never  get  beyond 
"  By  George  !  "  "  My  stars  !  "  or  "  Darn  it !  " 
Then,  again,  the  only  way  to  put  an  end  to 
murder  in  America  is  by  high  licenced  murderers. 
Put  a  few  men  in  to  manage  the  business  of 
murder.  The  common  assassins  who  do  their 
work  with  car  hooks,  dull  knives  or  Paris  green, 
should  be  abolished  by  law.  Let  the  few  experts 
do  it  who  can  accomplish  murder  without  pain  : 
by  chloroform  or  bulldog  revolvers.  Give  these 
men  all  the  business.  The  licence  in  these  cases 
should  be  twenty  thousand  dollars,  because  the 
perquisites  in  gold  watches,  money  safes,  and 
plethoric  pocket-books  would  soon  offset  the 
licence. 

High  licences  in  rum-selling  had  always  been 
urged,  and  always  resulted  in  dead  failures ;  there- 
fore the  whole  method  of  legal  restraint  in  crime 
can  be  dismissed  with  irony.  The  overcrowding 
in  the  East  was  crushing  our  ethical  and  practical 
ambition.  That  is  why  the  trains  going  westward 
were  so  crowded  that  there  was  hardly  room 
enough  to  stand  in  them.  We  were  restoring 
ourselves  in  Kansas  and  Missouri.  After  lecturing, 
in  the  spring  of  1887,  in  fifteen  Western  cities, 
including  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  and  westward  to 
the  extreme  boundaries  of  Kansas,  I  returned 
a  Westerner  to  convert  the  Easterner.  In  the 
West  they  called  this  prosperity  a  boom,  but  I 
never  liked  the  word,  for  a  boom  having  swung 


A   REVIVAL   OF  ENTERPRISE      193 

one  way  is  sure  to  swing  the  other.  It  was  a 
revival  of  enterprise  which,  starting  in  Birmingham, 
Ala.,  advanced  through  Tennessee,  and  spread 
to  Kansas,  Nebraska,  Missouri.  My  forecast 
at  this  time  was  that  the  men  who  went  West 
then  would  be  the  successes  in  the  next  twenty 
years.  The  centre  of  American  population,  which 
two  years  before  had  been  a  little  west  of  Cin- 
cinnati, had  moved  to  Kansas,  the  heart  of  the 
continent.  The  national  Capital  should  have  been 
midway  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Pacific, 
in  which  case  the  great  white  buildings  in  Wash- 
ington could  have  been  turned  into  art  academies, 
and  museums  and  libraries. 

Prohibition  in  Kansas  and  Iowa  was  making 
honest  men.  I  did  not  see  an  intoxicated  man  in 
either  of  these  States.  All  the  young  men  in 
Kansas  and  Iowa  were  either  prohibitionists  or 
loafers.  The  West  had  lost  the  song  plaintive 
and   adopted  the  song  jubilant. 

In  the  spring  of  this  year,  1887,  Brooklyn  was 
examined  by  an  investigating  committee.  Even 
when  Mayor  Low  was  in  power,  three  years 
before,  the  city  was  denounced  by  Democratic 
critics,  so  Mayor  Whitney,  of  course,  was  the 
victim  of  Republican  critics.  The  whole  thing  was 
mere  partisan  hypocrisy.  If  anyone  asked  me 
whether  I  was  a  Republican  or  a  Democrat,  I 
told  them  that  I  had  tried  both,  and  got  out  of 
them  both.  I  hope  always  to  vote,  but  the  title 
of  the  ticket  at  the  top  will  not  influence  me. 
Outside  of  heaven  Brooklyn  was  the  quietest 
place  on  Sunday.  The  Packer  and  the  Poly- 
technic institutes  took  care  of  our  boys  and  girls. 
Our  judiciary  at  this  time  included  remarkable 
men  :  Judge  Neilson,  Judge  Gilbert,  and  Judge 
Reynolds.  We  had  enough  surplus  doctors  to 
endow  a  medical  college  for  fifty  other  cities. 


194       THE   ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

It  looked  as  though  our  grandchildren  would  be 
very  happy.  We  were  only  in  the  early  morning 
of  development.  The  cities  would  be  multiplied 
a  hundredfold,  and  yet  we  were  groaning  because 
a  few  politicians  were  conducting  an  investiga- 
tion for  lack  of  something  better  to  do.  From 
time  immemorial  we  had  prayed  for  the  President 
and  Congress,  but  I  never  heard  of  any  prayers 
for  the  State  Legislatures,  and  they  needed  them 
most  of  all.  They  brought  about  the  groans  of 
the  nation,  and  we  were  constantly  in  complaint 
of  them.  I  remember  a  great  mass  meeting  in 
the  Academy  of  Music  in  Brooklyn,  at  which  I 
was  present,  to  protest  against  the  passage  of  the 
Gambling  Pool  Bill,  as  it  was  called.  I  was  accused 
of  being  over-confident  because  I  said  the  State 
Senate  would  not  pass  it  without  a  public  hearing. 
A  public  hearing  was  given,  however,  and  my 
faith  in  the  legislators  of  the  State  increased. 
We  ministers  of  Brooklyn  had  to  do  a  good  deal 
of  work  outside  of  our  pulpits,  outside  of  our 
churches,  on  the  street  and  in  the  crowds. 

When  the  Ives  Gambling  Pool  Bill  was  passed 
I  urged  that  the  Legislature  should  adjourn.  The 
race  track  men  went  to  Albany  and  triumphed. 
Brooklyn  was  disgraced  before  the  world  by  our  race 
tracks  at  Coney  Island,  which  were  a  public  shame  ! 

All  the  money  in  the  world,  however,  was  not 
abused.  Philanthropists  were  helping  the  Church. 
Miss  Wolfe  bequeathed  a  million  dollars  to 
evangelisation  in  New  York ;  Mr.  Depau,  of 
Illinois,  bequeathed  five  million  dollars  to  reli- 
gion, and  the  remaining  three  million  of  his 
fortune  only  to  his  family.  There  were  others — 
Cyrus  McCormick,  James  Lenox,  Mr.  Slater, 
Asa  D.  Packer.  They,  with  others,  were  men  of 
great  deeds.  We  were  just  about  ready  to  ap- 
preciate these  progressive  events. 


A   WORLD'S   FAIR  195 

In  the  summer  of  1887  I  urged  a  great  World's 
Fair,  because  I  thought  it  was  due  in  our  country, 
to  the  inventors,  the  artists,  the  industries  of 
America.  How  to  set  the  idea  of  a  World's  Fair 
agoing  ?  It  only  needed  enthusiasm  among  the 
prominent  merchants  and  the  rich  men.  All 
great  things  first  start  in  one  brain,  in  one  heart. 
I  proposed  that  a  World's  Fair  should  be  held  in 
the  great  acreage  between  Prospect  Park  and  the 
sea. 

In  1853  there  was  a  World's  Fair  in  New  York. 
In  the  same  year  the  dismemberment  of  the 
Republic  was  expected,  and  a  book  of  several 
volumes  was  advertised  in  London,  entitled 
"  History  of  the  Federal  Government  from  the 
Foundation  to  the  Dissipation  of  the  United 
States."  Only  one  volume  was  ever  published. 
The  other  volumes  were  never  printed.  What  a 
difference  in  New  York  city  then,  when  it  opened 
its  Crystal  Palace,  and  thirty-four  years  later — 
in  1887  !  That  Crystal  Palace  was  the  beginning 
of  World's  Fairs  in  this  country. 

In  the  presence  of  the  epauleted  representa- 
tives of  foreign  nations,  before  a  vast  multitude, 
Franklin  Pierce,  President  of  the  United  States, 
declared  it  open,  and  as  he  did  so  Julien,  the 
inspired  musical  leader  of  his  day,  raised  his  baton 
for  an  orchestra  of  three  thousand  instruments, 
while  thousands  of  trained  voices  sang  "  God  Save 
the  Queen,"  "  The  Marseillaise,"  "  Bonnie  Doon," 
'  The  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls," 
and  "Hail  Columbia."  What  that  Crystal 
Palace,  opened  in  New  York  in  1853,  did  for 
art,  for  science,  for  civilisation,  is  beyond  record. 
The  generation  that  built  it  has  for  the  most  part 
vanished  but  future  generations  will  be  inspired 
by  them. 

The    summer    of    1887    opened    the    baseball 


196      THE   ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

season  of  America,  and  I  deplored  an  element  of 
roughness  and  loaferism  that  attached  itself  to 
the  greatest  game  of  our  country.  One  of  the 
national  events  of  this  season  of  that  year  was  a 
proposal  to  remove  the  battle-flag  of  the  late 
war.  Good  sense  prevailed,  and  the  controversy 
was  satisfactorily  settled  ;  otherwise  the  whole 
country  would  have  been  aflame.  It  was  not 
merely  an  agitation  over  a  few  bits  of  bunting. 
The  most  arousing,  thrilling,  blood-stirring  thing 
on  earth  is  a  battle-flag.  Better  let  the  old 
battle-flags  of  our  three  wars  hang  where  they 
are.  Only  one  circumstance  could  disturb  them, 
and  that  would  be  the  invasion  of  a  foreign  power 
and  the  downfall  of  the  Republic.  The  strongest 
passions  of  men  are  those  of  patriotism. 

The  best  things  that  a  man  does  in  the  world 
usually  take  a  lifetime  to  make.  A  career  is  a 
life  job,  and  no  one  is  sure  whether  it  was  worthy 
or  not  till  it  is  over.  I  except  doctors  from  this 
rule,    of   whom   Homer   says  : — 

A  wise  physician  skilled  our  wounds  to  heal 
Is  more  than  armies  to  the  public  weal. 

Some  may  remember  the  stalwart  figure  of 
Dr.  Joseph  Hutchinson,  one  of  the  best  American 
surgeons.  For  some  years,  in  the  streets  of  Brook- 
lyn, he  was  a  familiar  and  impressive  figure  on 
horseback.  He  rode  superbly,  and  it  was  his 
custom  to  make  his  calls  in  that  way.  He  died 
in  this  year.  Daniel  Curry  was  another  signi- 
ficant, superior  man  of  a  different  sort,  who  also 
died  in  the  summer  of  1887.  He  was  an  editor 
and  writer  of  the  Methodist  Church.  At  his 
death  he  told  one  thing  that  will  go  into  the 
classics  of  the  Church;  and  five  hundred  years 
beyond,  when  evangelists  quote  the  last  words 
of  this  inspired  man,  they  will  recall  the  dying 


POLITICAL  PIRACY  197 

vision  that  came  to  Daniel  Curry.  He  saw  himself 
in  the  final  judgment  before  the  throne,  and  knew 
not  what  to  do  on  account  of  his  sins.  He  felt 
that  he  was  lost,  when  suddenly  Christ  saw  him 
and  said,  "  I  will  answer  for  Daniel  Curry."  In 
this  world  of  vast  population  it  is  wonderful  to 
find  only  a  few  men  who  have  helped  to  carry 
the  burden  of  others  with  distinction  for  them- 
selves.    Most  of  us  are  driven. 

In  the  two  years  and  a  half  that  our  Demo- 
cratic party  had  been  in  power,  our  taxes  had 
paid  in  a  surplus  to  the  United  States  treasury 
of  $125,000,000.  The  whole  country  was  groan- 
ing under  an  infamous  taxation.  Most  of  it  was 
spent  by  the  Republican  party,  three  or  four 
years  before,  to  improve  navigation  on  rivers 
with  about  two  feet  of  water  in  them  in  the 
winter,  and  dry  in  summer.  In  the  State  of 
Virginia  I  saw  one  of  these  dry  creeks  that  was 
to  be  improved.  Taxation  caused  the  war  of  the 
Revolution.  It  had  become  a  grinding  wheel  of 
government  that  rolled  over  all  our  public 
interests.  Politicians  were  afraid  to  touch  the  sub- 
ject for  fear  they  might  offend  their  party.  I  touch 
upon  it  here  because  those  who  live  after  me 
may  understand,  by  their  own  experience,  the 
infamy  of  political  piracy  practised  in  the  name 
of  government  taxation. 

We  had  our  school  for  scandal  in  America 
over-developed.  A  certain  amount  of  exposure 
is  good  for  the  soul,  but  our  newspaper  headlines 
over-reached  this  ideal  purpose.  They  cultivated 
liars  and  encouraged  their  lies.  The  peculiarity 
of  lies  is  their  great  longevity.  They  are  a  pro- 
ductive species  and  would  have  overwhelmed 
the  country  and  destroyed  George  Washington 
except  for  his  hatchet.  Once  born,  the  lie  may  live 
twenty,  thirty,  or  forty  years.     At  the  end  of  a 


198       THE   ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

man's  life  sometimes  it  is  healthier  than  he  ever 
was.  Lies  have  attacked  every  occupant  of  the 
White  House,  have  irritated  every  man  since 
Adam,  and  every  good  woman  since  Eve.  To- 
day the  lie  is  after  your  neighbour  ;  to-morrow 
it  is  after  you.  It  travels  so  fast  that  a  million 
people  can  see  it  the  next  morning.  It  listens  at 
keyholes,  it  can  hear  whispers  :  it  has  one  ear 
to  the  East,  the  other  to  the  West.  An  old- 
fashioned  tea-table  is  its  jubilee,  and  a  political 
campaign  is  its  heaven.  Avoid  it  you  may  not, 
but  meet  it  with  calmness  and  without  fear.  It 
is  always  an  outrage,  a  persecution. 

Nothing  more  offensive  to  public  sentiment 
could  have  occurred  than  the  attempt  made  in 
New  York  in  the  autumn  of  1887  to  hinder  the 
appointment  of  a  new  pastor  of  Trinity  Church, 
on  the  plea  that  he  came  from  a  foreign  country, 
and  therefore  was  an  ally  to  foreign  labour.  It 
was  an  outrage  on  religion,  on  the  Church,  on 
common  sense.  As  a  nation,  however,  we  were 
safe.  There  was  not  another  place  in  the  world 
where  its  chief  ruler  could  travel  five  thousand 
miles,  for  three  weeks,  unprotected  by  bayonets, 
as  Mr.  Cleveland  did  on  his  Presidential  tour  of 
the  country.  It  was  a  universal  huzzah,  from 
Mugwumps,  Republicans,  and  Democrats.  We 
were  a  safe  nation  because  we  destroyed  Com- 
munism. 

The  execution  of  the  anarchists  in  Chicago, 
in  November,  1887,  was  a  disgusting  exhibition 
of  the  gallows.  It  took  ten  minutes  for  some  of 
them  to  die  by  strangulation.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  barbaric  than  this  method  of 
hanging  human  life.  I  was  among  the  first  to 
publicly  propose  execution  by  electricity.  Mr. 
Edison,  upon  a  request  from  the  government, 
could  easily  have  arranged  it.    I  was  particularly 


BARBARISM    OF    THE    GALLOWS    199 

horrified  with  the  blunders  of  the  hangman's 
methods,  because  I  was  in  a  friend's  office  in 
New  York,  when  the  telegraph  wires  gave 
instantaneous  reports  of  the  executions  in 
Chicago.  I  made  notes  of  these  flashes  of 
death. 

"  Now  the  prisoners  leave  the  cells,"  said  the 
wire  ;  "  now  they  are  ascending  the  stairs  "  ; 
"  now  the  rope  is  being  adjusted  "  ;  "  now  the 
cap  is  being  drawn  "  ;  "  now  they  fall."  Had  I 
been  there  I  would  probably  have  felt  thankful 
that  I  was  brought  up  to  obey  the  law,  and  could 
understand  the  majesty  of  restraining  powers. 
One  of  these  men  was  naturally  kind  and  generous, 
I  was  told,  but  was  embittered  by  one  who  had 
robbed  him  of  everything  ;  and  so  he  became  an 
enemy  to  all  mankind.  One  of  them  got  his 
antipathy  for  all  prosperous  people  from  the 
fact  that  his  father  was  a  profligate  nobleman, 
and  his  mother  a  poor,  maltreated,  peasant 
woman.  The  impulse  of  anarchy  starts  high  up 
in  society.  Chief  among  our  blessings  was  an 
American  instinct  for  lawfulness  in  the  midst  of 
lawless  temptation.  We  were  often  reminded 
of  this  supreme  advantage  as  we  saw  passing 
into  shadowland  the  robed  figure  of  an  upright 
man. 

The  death  of  Judge  Greenwood  of  Brooklyn, 
in  November,  1887,  was  a  reminder  of  such  mat- 
ters. He  had  seen  the  nineteenth  century  in 
its  youth  and  in  its  old  age.  From  first  to  last,  he 
had  been  on  the  right  side  of  all  its  questions  of 
public  welfare.  We  could,  appropriately,  hang 
his  portrait  in  our  court  rooms  and  city  halls. 
The  artist's  brush  would  be  tame  indeed  compared 
with  the  living,  glowing,  beaming  face  of  dear 
old  Judge  Greenwood  in  the  portrait  gallery  of 
my  recollections. 


200       THE   ELEVENTH  MILESTONE 

The  national  event  of  this  autumn  was  Presi- 
dent Cleveland's  message  to  Congress,  which  put 
squarely  before  us  the  matter  of  our  having 
a  protective  tariff.  It  was  the  great  question 
of  our  national  problem,  and  called  for 
oratory  and  statesmanship  to  answer  it.  The 
whole  of  Europe  was  interested  in  the  subject. 
I  advocated  free  trade  as  the  best  understanding 
of  international  trading,  because  I  had  talked 
with  the  leaders  of  political  thought  in  Europe, 
and  I  understood  both  sides,  as  far  as  my  capacity 
could  compass  them.  In  America  we  were 
frequently  compared  to  the  citizens  of  the  French 
Republic  because  of  our  nervous  force,  our  rest- 
lessness, but  we  were  more  patient.  In  1887, 
the  resignation  of  President  Grevy  in  France  re- 
established this  fact.  Though  an  American 
President  becomes  offensive  to  the  people,  we 
wait  patiently  till  his  four  years  are  out,  even  if 
we  are  not  very  quiet  about  it.  We  are  safest 
when  we  keep  our  hands  off  the  Constitution. 
The  demonstration  in  Paris  emphasised  our 
Republican  wisdom.  Public  service  is  an  altar 
of  sacrifice  for  all  who  worship  there. 

The  death  of  Daniel  Manning,  ex-Secretary  of 
the  Treasury,  in  December,  1887,  was  another 
proof  of  this.  He  fell  prostrate  on  the  steps  of 
his  office,  in  a  sickness  that  no  medical  aid  could 
relieve.  Four  years  before  no  one  realised  the 
strength  that  was  in  him.  He  threw  body  and 
soul  into  the  whirlpool  of  his  work,  and  was  left 
in  the  rapids  of  celebrity.  In  the  closing  notes 
of  1887,  I  find  recorded  the  death  of  Mrs.  William 
Astor.  What  a  sublime  lifetime  of  charity  and 
kindness  was  hers  !  Mrs.  Astor's  will  read  like  a 
poem.  It  had  a  beauty  and  a  pathos,  and  a 
power  entirely  independent  of  rhythmical  cadence. 
The  document  was  published  to  the  world  on  a 


MRS.  WILLIAM  ASTOR  201 

cold  December  morning,  with  its  bequests  of 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  to  the  poor  and 
needy,  the  invalids  and  the  churches.  It  put  a 
warm  glow  over  the  tired  and  grizzled  face  of 
the  old  year.  It  was  a  benediction  upon  the 
coming  years. 


THE   TWELFTH   MILESTONE 

1888 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  constructive  age  of  man 
begins  when  he  has  passed  fifty.  Not  until  then 
can  he  be  a  master  builder.  As  I  sped  past  the 
fifty-fifth  milestone  life  itself  became  better, 
broader,  fuller.  My  plans  were  wider,  the  dis- 
tances I  wanted  to  go  stretched  before  me, 
beyond  the  normal  strength  of  an  average  life- 
time. This  I  knew,  but  still  I  pressed  on,  in- 
different of  the  speed  or  strain.  There  were 
indications  that  my  strength  had  not  been  dissi- 
pated, that  the  years  were  merely  notches  that 
had  not  cut  deep,  that  had  scarcely  scarred  the 
surface  of  the  trunk.  The  soul,  the  mind,  the 
zest  of  doing — all  were  keen  and  eager. 

The  conservation  of  the  soul  is  not  so  profound 
a  matter  as  it  is  described.  It  consists  in  a 
guardianship  of  the  gateways  through  which 
impressions  enter,  or  pass  by ;  it  consists  in 
protecting  one's  inner  self  from  wasteful  associa- 
tions. 

The  influence  of  what  we  read  is  of  chief  im- 
portance to  character.  At  the  beginning  of  1888 
I  received  innumerable  requests  from  people  all 
over  New  York  and  Brooklyn  for  advice  on  the 
subject  of  reading.  In  the  deluge  of  books  that 
were  beginning  to  sweep  over  us  many  readers 


ON   READING  203 

were  drowned.  The  question  of  what  to  read  was 
being  discussed  everywhere. 

I  opposed  the  majority  of  novels  because  they 
were  made  chiefly  to  set  forth  desperate  love 
scrapes.  Much  reading  of  love  stories  makes  one 
soft,  insipid,  absent-minded,  and  useless.  Affec- 
tions in  life  usually  work  out  very  differently. 
The  lady  does  not  always  break  into  tears,  nor 
faint,  nor  do  the  parents  always  oppose  the 
situation,  so  that  a  romantic  elopement  is  possible. 
Excessive  reading  of  these  stories  makes  fools  of 
men  and  women.  Neither  is  it  advisable  to  read 
a  book  because  someone  else  likes  it.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  waste  time  on  Shakespeare  if  you 
have  no  taste  for  poetry  or  drama  merely  because 
so  many  others  like  them ;  nor  to  pass  a  long  time 
with  Sir  William  Hamilton  when  metaphysics  are 
not  to  your  taste.  When  you  read  a  book  by 
the  page,  every  few  minutes  looking  ahead  to  see 
how  many  chapters  there  are  before  the  book  will 
be  finished,  you  had  better  stop  reading  it.  There 
was  even  a  fashion  in  books  that  was  absurd. 
People  were  bored  to  death  by  literature  in  the 
fashion. 

For  a  while  we  had  a  Tupper  epidemic,  and 
everyone  grew  busy  writing  blank  verse — very 
blank.  Then  came  an  epidemic  of  Carlyle,  and 
everyone  wrote  turgid,  involved,  twisted  and  break- 
neck sentences,  each  noun  with  as  many  verbs 
as  Brigham  Young  had  wives.  Then  followed  a 
romantic  craze,  and  everyone  struggled  to 
combine  religion  and  romance,  with  frequent 
punches  at  religion,  and  we  prided  ourselves  on 
being  sceptical  and  independent  in  our  literary 
tastes.  My  advice  was  simply  to  make  up  one's 
mind  what  to  read,  and  then  read  it.  Life  is 
short,  and  books  are  many.  Instead  of  making 
your  mind  a  garret  crowded  with  rubbish,  make 


204        THE  TWELFTH  MILESTONE 

it  a  parlour,  substantially  furnished,  beautifully 
arranged,  in  which  you  would  not  be  ashamed  to 
have  the  whole  world  enter. 

There  was  so  much  in  the  world  to  provoke  the 
soul,  and  yet  all  persecution  is  a  blessing  in  some 
way.  The  so-called  modern  literature,  towards 
the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century,  was  becoming 
more  and  more  the  illegitimate  offspring  of 
immaturity  in  thought  and  feeling.  We  were  the 
slaves  of  our  newspapers ;  each  morning  a  library 
was  thrown  on  our  doorstep.  But  what  a  jumbled, 
inconsequent,  muddled-up  library!  It  was  the 
best  that  could  be  made  in  such  a  hurry,  and  it 
satisfied  most  of  us,  though  I  believe  there  were 
conservative  people  who  opened  it  only  to  read 
the  marriage  and  the  death  notices.  The  latter 
came  along  fast  enough. 

In  January,  1888,  that  well-known  American 
jurist  and  illustrious  Brooklynite,  Judge  Joseph 
Neilson,  died.  He  was  an  old  friend  of  mine,  of 
everyone  who  came  upon  his  horizon.  For  a  long 
while  he  was  an  invalid,  but  he  kept  this  know- 
ledge from  the  world,  because  he  wanted  no  public 
demonstration.  The  last  four  years  of  his  life  he 
was  confined  to  his  room,  where  he  sat  all  the 
while  calm,  uncomplaining,  interested  in  all  the 
affairs  of  the  world,  after  a  life  of  active  work  in 
it.  He  belonged  to  that  breed  which  has  developed 
the  brain  and  brawn  of  American  character — 
the  Scotch-Irish.  If  Christianity  had  been  a 
fallacy,  Judge  Neilson  would  have  been  just  the 
man  to  expose  it.  He  who  on  the  judicial  bench 
sat  in  solemn  poise  of  spirit,  while  the  ablest 
jurists  and  advocates  of  the  century  were  before 
him  to  be  prompted,  corrected,  or  denied,  was 
not  the  man  to  be  overcome  by  a  religion  of 
sophistry  or  mere  pretence.  Chief  Justice  Salmon 
P.  Chase  said  that  he  had  studied  the  Christian 


UNIFICATION   OF   NATIONS         205 

religion  as  he  had  studied  a  law  case,  and  con- 
cluded that  it  was  divine.  Judge  Neilson's 
decisions  will  be  quoted  in  court  rooms  as  long 
as  Justice  holds  its  balance.  The  supremacy  of 
a  useful  life  never  leaves  the  earth — its  influence 
remains  behind. 

The  whole  world,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  being 
spiritualised  by  the  influences  of  those  whose 
great  moments  on  earth  had  planted  tangible  and 
material  benefits,  years  after  they  themselves 
were  invisible.  It  was  an  elemental  fact  in  the 
death  chamber  of  Mr.  Roswell,  the  great  botanist, 
in  England  ;  in  the  relieved  anxieties  in  Berlin  ; 
in  the  jubilation  in  Dublin  ;  by  the  gathering  of 
noblemen  in  St.  Petersburg  ;  and  in  the  dawn  of 
this  new  year.  I  could  see  a  tendency  in  European 
affairs  to  the  unification  of  nations. 

The  German  and  the  French  languages  had  been 
struggling  for  the  supremacy  of  Europe.  As  I 
foresaw  events  then,  the  two  would  first  conquer 
Europe,  and  the  stronger  of  the  two  would 
swallow  the  other.  Then  the  English  language 
would  devour  that,  and  the  world  would  have 
but  one  language.  Over  a  million  people  had 
already  began  the  study  of  Volaptik,  a  new 
language  composed  of  all  languages.  This  was 
an  indication  of  world  nationalisation.  Con- 
gresses of  nations,  meeting  for  various  purposes, 
were  establishing  brotherhood.  It  looked  as 
though  those  who  were  telling  us  again  in  1888 
that  the  second  coming  of  Christ  was  at  hand 
were  right.  The  divine  significance  of  things 
was  greater  than  it  had  ever  been. 

There  was  some  bigotry  in  religious  affairs,  of 
course.  In  our  religion  we  were  as  far  from 
unity  of  feeling  then  as  we  had  ever  been.  The 
Presbyterian  bigot  could  be  recognised  by  his 
armful  of  Westminster  catechisms.    The  Methodist 


206        THE   TWELFTH   MILESTONE 

bigot  could  be  easily  identified  by  his  declaration 
that  unless  a  man  had  been  converted  by  sitting 
on  the  anxious  seat  he  was  not  eligible.  The  way 
to  the  church  militant,  according  to  this  bigot, 
was  from  the  anxious  seat,  one  of  which  he  always 
carried  with  him.  The  Episcopal  bigot  struggled 
under  a  great  load  of  liturgies.  Without  this 
man's  prayer-books  no  one  could  be  saved,  he 
said.  The  Baptist  bigot  was  bent  double  with 
the  burden  of  his  baptistry. 

"  It  does  not  seem  as  if  some  of  you  had  been 
properly  washed,"  he  said,  "  and  I  shall  proceed 
to  put  under  the  water  all  those  who  have  neg- 
lected their  ablutions."  Religion  was  being 
served  in  a  kind  of  ecclesiastical  hash  that, 
naturally  enough,  created  controversy,  as  very 
properly  it  should.  In  spite  of  these  things, 
however,  some  creed  of  religious  faith,  which- 
ever it  might  be,  was  universally  needed.  I 
hope  for  a  church  unity  in  the  future.  When  all 
the  branches  in  each  denomination  have  united, 
then  the  great  denominations  nearest  akin  will 
unite,  and  this  absorption  will  go  on  until  there 
will  be  one  great  millennial  Church,  divided  only 
for  geographical  convenience  into  sections  as  of 
old,  when  it  was  the  Church  of  Laodicea,  the 
Church  of  Philadelphia,  the  Church  of  Thyatira. 
In  the  event  of  this  religious  evolution  then 
there  will  be  the  Church  of  America,  the  Church 
of  Europe,  the  Church  of  Asia,  the  Church  of 
Africa,  and  the  Church  of  Australia. 

We  are  all  builders,  bigots,  or  master  me- 
chanics of  the  divine  will. 

The  number  of  men  who  built  Brooklyn,  and 
who  have  gone  into  eternal  industry,  were  in- 
creasing. One  day  I  paused  a  moment  on  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge  to  read  on  a  stone  the  names  of 
those  who  had  influenced  the  building  of  that 


THE  BLACK- WINGED  ANGEL   207 

span  of  steel,  the  wonder  of  the  century.  They 
were  the  absent  ones  :  The  president,  Mr.  Murphy, 
absent ;  the  vice-president,  Mr.  Kingsley,  absent ; 
the  treasurer,  Mr.  Prentice,  absent ;  the  engineer, 
Mr.  Roebling,  absent.  Our  useful  citizens  were 
going  or  gone.  A  few  days  after  this  Alfred  S. 
Barnes  departed.  He  has  not  disappeared,  nor 
will  until  our  Historical  Hall,  our  Academy  of 
Music,  and  Mercantile  Library,  our  great  asylums 
of  mercy,  and  churches  of  all  denominations  shall 
have  crumbled.  His  name  has  been  a  bulwark 
of  credit  in  the  financial  affairs  over  which  he 
presided.  He  was  a  director  of  many  universities. 
What  reinforcement  to  the  benevolence  of  the  day 
his  patronage  was  !  I  enjoyed  a  warm  personal 
friendship  with  him  for  many  years,  and  my  gra- 
titude and  admiration  were  unbounded.  He  was 
a  man  of  strict  integrity  in  business  circles,  the 
highest  type  of  a  practical  Christian  gentleman. 
Unlike  so  many  successful  business  men,  he 
maintained  an  unusual  simplicity  of  character. 
He  declined  the  Mayoralty  and  Congressional 
honours  that  he  might  pursue  the  ways  of 
peace. 

The  great  black-winged  angel  was  being  des- 
perately beaten  back,  however,  by  the  rising  gene- 
ration of  doctors,  young,  hearty,  industrious, 
ambitious  graduates  of  the  American  universities. 
How  bitterly  vaccination  was  fought  even  by 
ministers  of  the  Gospel.  Small  wits  caricatured 
it,  but  what  a  world-wide  human  benediction  it 
proved.  I  remember  being  in  Edinburgh  a  few 
weeks  after  the  death  of  Sir  James  Y.  Simpson, 
and  his  photograph  was  in  every  shop  window,  in 
honour  of  the  man  who  first  used  chloroform  as 
an  anaesthetic.  In  former  days  they  tried  to 
dull  pain  by  using  the  hasheesh  of  the  Arabs. 
Dr.  Simpson's  wet  sponge  was  a  blessing  put  into 


208        THE   TWELFTH   MILESTONE 

the  hands  of  the  surgeon.  The  millennium  for  the 
souls  of  men  will  be  when  the  doctors  have  dis- 
covered the  millennium  for  their  bodies. 

Dr.  Bush  used  to  say  in  his  valedictory  address 
to  the  students  of  the  medical  college,  "  Young 
gentlemen,  you  have  two  pockets  :  a  large 
pocket  and  a  small  pocket.  The  large  pocket 
is  for  your  annoyances  and  your  insults,  the  small 
pocket  for  your  fees." 

In  March,  1888,  we  lost  a  man  who  bestowed  a 
new  dispensation  upon  the  dumb  animals  that 
bear  our  burdens — Henry  Bergh.  Abused  and 
ridiculed  most  of  his  life,  he  established  a  great 
work  for  the  good  men  and  women  of  the  ensuing 
centuries  to  carry  out.  Long  may  his  name  live 
in  our  consecrated  memory.  In  the  same  month, 
from  Washington  to  Toledo,  the  long  funeral 
train  of  Chief  Justice  White  steamed  across 
country,  passing  multitudes  of  uncovered  heads 
bowed  in  sorrowing  respect,  while  across  the  sea 
men  honoured  his  distinguished  memory. 

What  a  splendid  inheritance  for  those  of  us  who 
must  pass  out  of  the  multitude  without  much  ado, 
if  we  are  not  remembered  among  the  bores  of  life. 
There  were  bores  in  the  pulpit  who  made  their 
congregations  dread  Sundays  ;  made  them  wish 
that  Sunday  would  come  only  once  a  month. 
At  one  time  an  original  Frenchman  actually 
tried  having  a  Sunday  only  once  every  ten  days. 
A  minister  should  have  a  conference  with  his 
people  before  he  preaches,  otherwise  how  can  he 
tell  what  medicine  to  give  them  ?  He  must  feel 
the  spiritual  pulse.  Every  man  is  a  walking 
eternity  in  himself,  but  he  will  never  qualify  if  he 
insists  on  being  a  bore,  even  if  he  have  to  face 
sensational  newspaper  stories  about  himself. 

I  never  replied  to  any  such  tales  except  once,  and 
that  once   came   about   in   the   spring   of   1888. 


ROSCOE  CONKLING  209 

I  regarded  it  as  a  joke.  Some  one  reported  that 
one  evening,  at  a  little  gathering  in  my  house, 
there  were  four  kinds  of  wine  served.  I  was 
much  interviewed  on  the  subject.  I  announced 
in  my  church  that  the  report  was  false,  that  we 
had  no  wine.  I  did  not  take  the  matter  as  one 
of  offence.  If  I  had  been  as  great  a  master  of 
invective  and  satire  as  Roscoe  Conkling  I  might 
have  said  more.  In  the  spring  of  this  year  he 
died.  The  whole  country  watched  anxiously  the 
news  bulletins  of  his  death.  He  died  a  lawyer. 
About  Conkling  as  a  politician  I  have  nothing 
to  say.  There  is  no  need  to  enter  that  field  of 
enraged  controversy.  As  a  lawyer  he  was 
brilliant,  severely  logical,  if  he  chose  to  be,  up- 
roarious with  mirth  if  he  thought  it  appropriate. 
He  was  an  optimist.  He  was  on  board  the 
"  Bothnia  "  when  she  broke  her  shaft  at  sea,  and 
much  anxiety  was  felt  for  him.  I  sailed  a  week 
later  on  the  "  Umbria,"  and  overtaking  the 
44  Bothnia,"  the  two  ships  went  into  harbour 
together.  Meeting  Mr.  Conkling  the  next  morn- 
ing, in  the  North-Western  Hotel,  at  Liverpool,  I 
asked  him  if  he  had  not  been  worried. 

44  Oh,  no,"  he  said  ;  44  I  was  sure  that  good 
fortune  would  bring  us  through  all  right." 

He  was  the  only  lawyer  I  ever  knew  who 
could  afford  to  turn  away  from  a  seat  on  the  bench 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.  He 
had  never  known  misfortune.  Had  he  ever  been 
compelled  to  pass  through  hardships  he  would 
have  been  President  in  1878.  Because  of  certain 
peculiarities,  known  to  himself,  as  well  as  to 
others,  he  turned  aside  from  politics.  Although 
neither  Mr.  Conkling  nor  Mr.  Blaine  could  have 
been  President  while  both  lived,  good  people  of 
all  parties  hoped  for  Mr.  Conkling's  recovery. 

The  national  respect  shown  at  the  death-bed 


210        THE  TWELFTH  MILESTONE 

of  the  lawyer  revealed  the  progress  of  our  times. 
Lawyers,  for  many  years  in  the  past,  had  been 
ostracised.  They  were  once  forbidden  entrance 
to  Parliament.  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  the  following 
epitaph,   which  is  obvious  enough  : — 

God  works  wonders  now  and  then  ; 
Here  lies  a  lawyer  an  honest  man. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MILESTONE 

1888—1889 

The  longer  I  live  the  more  I  think  of  mercy. 
Fifty-six  years  of  age  and  I  had  not  the  slightest 
suspicion  that  I  was  getting  old.  It  was  like  a  crisp, 
exquisitely  still  autumn  day.  I  felt  the  strength 
and  buoyancy  of  all  the  days  I  had  lived  merging 
themselves  into  a  joyous  anticipation  of  years  and 
years  to  come.  For  a  long  while  I  had  cherished 
the  dream  that  I  might  some  day  visit  the  Holy 
Land,  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  the  sky,  the  fields, 
the  rocks,  and  the  sacred  background  of  the 
Divine  Tragedy.  The  tangible  plans  were  made, 
and  I  was  preparing  to  sail  in  October,  1889.  I 
felt  like  a  man  on  the  eve  of  a  new  career.  The 
fruition  of  the  years  past  was  about  to  be  a  great 
harvest  of  successful  work.  I  speak  of  it  without 
reserve,  as  we  offer  prayers  of  gratitude  for  great 
mercies. 

Everything  before  me  seemed  finer  than  any- 
thing I  had  ever  known.  Few  men  at  my  age 
were  so  blessed  with  the  vigour  of  health,  with  the 
elixir  of  youth.  To  the  world  at  large  I  was 
indebted  for  its  appreciation,  its  praise  sometimes, 
its  interest  always.  My  study  in  Brooklyn  was 
a  room  that  had  become  a  picturesque  starting 
point  for  the  imagination  of  kindly  newspaper  men. 
They  were  leading  me  into  a  new  element  of  celebrity. 


212    THE  THIRTEENTH  MILESTONE 

One  morning,  in  my  house  in  Brooklyn,  I  was 
asked  by  a  newspaper  in  New  York  if  it  might 
send  a  reporter  to  spend  the  day  with  me  there. 
I  had  no  objection.  The  reporter  came  after 
breakfast.  Breakfast  was  an  awkward  meal  for 
the  newspaper  profession,  otherwise  we  should 
have  had  it  together.  I  made  no  preparation, 
set  no  scene,  gave  the  incident  no  thought,  but 
spent  the  day  in  the  usual  routine  of  a  pastor's 
duty.  It  is  an  incident  that  puts  a  side-light  on 
my  official  duties  as  a  minister  in  his  home,  and 
for  that  reason  I  refer  to  it  in  detail.  Some  of  the 
descriptions  made  by  the  reporter  were  accurate, 
and  illustrative  of  my  home  life. 

My  mail  was  heavy,  and  my  first  duty  was 
always  to  take  it  under  my  arm  to  my  workshop 
on  the  second  floor  of  my  home  in  South  Oxford 
Street.  In  doing  this  I  was  closely  followed  by 
the  reporter.  My  study  was  a  place  of  many 
windows,  and  on  this  morning  in  the  first  week 
of  1888  it  was  flooded  with  sunshine,  or  as  the 
reporter,  with  technical  skill,  described  it,  "A 
mellow  light."  The  sun  is  always  "  mellow  "  in 
a  room  whenever  I  have  read  about  it  in  a  news- 
paper. The  reporter  found  my  study  "  an  un- 
attractive room,"  because  it  lacked  the  signs  of 
"  luxury  "  or  even  "  comfort."  As  I  was  erron- 
eously regarded  as  a  clerical  Croesus  at  this  time 
the  reporter's  disappointment  was  excusable. 
The  Gobelin  tapestries,  the  Raphael  paintings, 
the  Turkish  divans,  and  the  gold  and  silver  trap- 
pings of  a  throne  room  were  missing  in  my  study. 
The  reporter  found  the  floor  distressingly  "  hard, 
but  polished  wood."  The  walls  were  painfully 
plain — "  all  white."  My  table,  which  the  re- 
porter kindly  signified  asa"  big  one,"  was  drawn 
up  to  a  large  window.  Of  course,  like  all  tables 
of  the  kind,  it  was  "littered."     I  never  read  of  a 


A  DAY  WITH  A  REPORTER         213 

library  table  in  a  newspaper  that  was  not 
"  littered."  The  reporter  spied  everything  upon 
it  at  once,  "  letters,  newspapers,  books,  pens,  ink 
bottles,  pencils,  and  writing-paper."  All  of 
which,  of  course,  indicated  intellectual  supremacy 
to  the  reporter.  The  chair  at  my  table  was  "  stiff 
backed,"  and,  amazing  fact,  it  was  "  without  a 
cushion."  In  front  of  the  chair,  but  on  the  table, 
the  reporter  discovered  an  "  open  book,"  which 
he  concluded  "  showed  that  the  great  preacher 
had  been  hurriedly  called  away."  In  every 
respect  it  was  a  "typical  literary  man's  den." 
Glancing  shrewdly  around,  the  reporter  dis- 
covered "  bookshelves  around  the  walls,  books 
piled  in  corners,  and  even  in  the  middle  of  the 
room."  Also  a  newspaper  file  was  noticed,  and 
— careless  creature  that  I  am — "  there  were  even 
bundles  of  old  letters  tied  with  strings  thrown 
carelessly  about."     The  reporter  then  said  : — 

"  He  told  me  this  was  his  workshop,  and 
looked  me  in  the  face  with  a  merry  twinkle 
in  his  eye  to  see  whether  I  was  surprised  or 
pleased." 

Then  I  asked  the  reporter  to  "  sit  down," 
which  he  promptly  did.  I  was  closely  watched 
to  see  how  I  opened  my  mail.  Nothing  startling 
happened.  I  just  opened  "  letter  after  letter." 
Some  I  laid  aside  for  my  secretary,  others  I 
actually  attended  to  myself. 

A  letter  from  a  young  lady  in  Georgia,  asking 
me  to  send  her  what  I  consider  the  most  im- 
portant word  in  my  vocabulary,  I  answered 
immediately.  The  ever-watchful  reporter  ob- 
serves that  to  do  this  "  I  pick  up  a  pen  and 
write  on  the  margin  of  the  girl's  letter  the  word 
4  helpfulness.'  "  Then  I  sign  it  and  stick  it  in  an 
envelope.  Then  I  "  dash  off  the  address." 
Obviously  I  am  not  at  all  original  at  home.     I 


214    THE   THIRTEENTH  MILESTONE 

replied  to  a  letter  from  the  president  of  a  theo- 
logical seminary,  asking  me  to  speak  to  his  young 
men.  I  like  young  men  so  I  agree  to  do  so  if  I 
can.  I  "  startle  ,:  the  reporter  finally,  by  a 
sudden  burst  of  unexpected  hilarity  over  a  letter 
from  a  man  in  Pennsylvania  who  wants  me  to 
send  him  a  cheque  by  return  mail  for  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  on  a  sure  thing  investment. 
The  reporter  says  : — 

11  I  am  startled  by  a  shrill  peal  of  laughter, 
and  the  great  preacher  leans  back  in  his  chair 
and  shakes  his  sides." 

The  reporter  looks  over  my  shoulder  and  sees 
other  letters. 

"  A  young  minister  writes  to  say  that  his  con- 
gregation is  leaving  him.  How  shall  he  get  his 
people  back  ?  An  old  sailor  scrawls  on  a  piece  of 
yellow  paper  that  he  is  bound  for  the  China  seas  and 
he  wants  a  copy  of  each  of  Dr.  Talmage's  sermons 
sent  to  his  old  wife  in  New  Bedford,  Mass.,  while 
he  is  gone.  Here  is  a  letter  in  a  schoolgirl's  hand. 
She  has  had  a  quarrel  with  her  first  lover  and  he 
has  left  her  in  a  huff.  How  can  she  get  him  back  ? 
Another  letter  is  from  the  senior  member  of  one 
of  the  biggest  commercial  houses  in  Brooklyn. 
It  is  brief,  but  it  gives  the  good  doctor  pleasure. 
The  writer  tells  him  how  thoroughly  he  enjoyed 
the  sermon  last  Sunday.  The  next  letter  is  from 
the  driver  of  a  horse  car.  He  has  been  discharged. 
His  children  go  to  Dr.  Talmage's  Sunday  School. 
Is  that  not  enough  to  show  that  the  father  is 
reliable  and  steady,  and  will  not  the  preacher  go 
at  once  to  the  superintendent  of  the  car  line  and 
have  him  reinstated.  Here  is  a  perfumed  note 
from  a  young  mother  who  wants  her  child  bap- 
tised. There  are  invitations  to  go  here  and  there, 
and  to  speak  in  various  cities.  Young  men  write 
for  advice  :    One   with  the   commercial  instinct 


THE  PASTOR  AT  HOME  215 

strongly  developed,  wants  to  know  if  the  ministry 
pays  ?  Still  another  letter  is  from  a  patent 
medicine  house,  asking  if  the  preacher  will  not 
write  an  endorsement  of  a  new  cure  for  rheu- 
matism. Other  writers  take  the  preacher  to  task 
for  some  utterance  in  the  pulpit  that  did  not 
please  them.  Either  he  was  too  lenient  or  too 
severe.  A  young  man  wants  to  get  married  and 
writes  to  know  what  it  will  cost  to  tie  the  knot. 
A  New  York  actress,  who  has  been  an  attendant 
for  several  Sundays  at  the  Tabernacle,  writes  to 
say  that  she  is  so  well  pleased  with  the  sermons 
that  she  would  be  glad  if  she  could  come  earlier 
on  Sunday  morning,  but  she  is  so  tired  when 
Saturday  night  comes  that  she  can't  get  up  early. 
Would  it  be  asking  too  much  to  have  a  seat 
reserved  for  her  until  she  arrived  ! " 

A  maid  in  a  "  white  cap  "  comes  to  the  door 
and  informs  me  that  a  "  roomful  of  people  "  are 
waiting  to  see  me  downstairs.  It  is  the  usual 
routine  of  my  morning's  work,  when  I  receive  all 
who  come  to  me  for  advice  and  consolation.  The 
reporter  regards  it,  however,  as  an  event,  and 
writes  about  it  in  this  way  : — 

"  Visitors  to  the  Talmage  mansion  are  ushered 
through  a  broad  hall  into  the  great  preacher's 
back  parlour.  They  begin  to  arrive  frequently 
before  breakfast,  and  the  bell  rings  till  long  after 
the  house  is  closed  for  the  night.  There  are  men 
and  women  of  all  races,  some  richly  dressed,  some 
fashionably,  some  very  poorly.  Many  of  them 
had  never  spoken  a  word  to  Dr.  Talmage  before. 
They  think  that  Talmage  has  only  to  strike  the 
rock  to  bring  forth  a  stream  of  shining  coins.  He 
steps  into  their  midst  pleasantly. 

41  '  Well,  young  man,'  he  says  to  a  youth  of 
seventeen,  who  stands  before  him.  He  offers  the 
boy  his  hand  and  shakes  it  heartily. 


216    THE   THIRTEENTH  MILESTONE 

"  *  I  don't  suppose  you  know  me,'  says  the 
lad,  '  but  I'm  in  your  Sunday  School.  Mother 
thinks  I  should  go  to  work  and  I  have  come  to 
you  for  advice.5 

"  Then  follows  in  whispers  a  brief  conversation 
about  the  boy  himself,  his  parents,  his  education 
and  mode  of  life. 

"  c  Now,'  says  the  preacher,  leading  him  by 
the  hand  to  the  door,  '  get  a  letter  from  your 
mother,  and  also  one  from  your  Sunday  School 
teacher,  and  one  from  your  Day  School  teacher, 
and  bring  them  to  me.  If  they  are  satisfactory 
I  will  give  you  a  letter  to  a  warm  friend  of  mine 
who  is  one  of  the  largest  dry  goods  merchants  in 
New  York.  If  you  are  able,  bright,  and  honest 
he  will  employ  you.  If  you  are  faithful  you  may 
some  day  be  a  member  of  the  firm.  All  the  world 
is  before  you,  lad.  Be  honest,  have  courage. 
Roll  up  your  sleeves  and  go  to  work  and  you  will 
succeed.     Goodbye  !  '    and  the  door  closes. 

"  The  next  caller  is  an  old  woman  who  wants 
the  popular  pastor  to  get  her  husband  work  in 
the  Navy  Yard.  No  sooner  is  she  disposed  of, 
with  a  word  of  comfort,  than  a  spruce-looking 
young  man  steps  forward.  He  is  a  book  agent, 
and  his  glib  tongue  runs  so  fast  that  the  preacher 
subcribes  for  his  book  without  looking  at  it.  As 
the  agent  retires  a  shy  young  girl  comes  forward 
and  asks  for  the  preacher's  autograph.  It  is 
given  cheerfully.  Two  old  ladies  of  bustling 
activity  have  come  to  ask  for  advice  about  open- 
ing a  soup  kitchen  for  the  poor.  A  middle-aged 
man  pours  out  a  sad  story  of  woe.  He  is  a  hard- 
working carpenter.  His  only  daughter  is  inclined 
to  be  wayward.  Would  Dr.  Talmage  come  round 
and  talk  to  her  ? 

"  Finally,  all  the  callers  have  been  heard  except 
one  young  man  who  sits  in  a  corner  of  the  room 


CONSULTATION  AND  ADVICE       217 

toying  with  his  hat.  He  has  waited  patiently 
so  that  he  might  have  the  preacher  all  alone.  He 
rises  as  Dr.  Talmage  walks  over  to  him. 

"  '  I  am  in  no  hurry,'  he  says.  '  I'll  wait  if  you 
want  to  speak  to — to — to  that  man  over  there,' 
pointing  to  me. 

"  '  No,'  is  the  reply.  '  We  are  going  out 
together  soon.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  ' 

"  '  Well  I  can  call  again  if  you  are  too  busy  to 
talk  to  me  now  ?  ' 

"  '  No,  I  am  not  too  busy.  Speak  up.  I  can 
give  you  ten  minutes.' 

"  '  But  I  want  a  long  talk,'  persists  the  visitor. 

"  '  I'd  like  to  oblige  you,'  says  the  preacher, 
1  but  I'm  very  busy  to-day.' 

"  '  I'll  come  to-morrow.' 

"  '  No  ;    I  shall  be  busy  to-morrow  also.' 

"  '  And  to-night,  too  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes  ;  my  time  is  engaged  for  the  entire  week. 

"  '  Well,  then,'  says  the  young  man,  in  a 
stammering  way  ;  c  I  want  your  advice.  I'm 
employed  in  a  big  house  in  New  York  and  I  am 
getting  a  fair  salary.  I  have  been  offered  a 
position  in  a  rival  house.  Would  it  be  right  and 
honourable  for  me  to  leave  ?  I  am  to  get  a  little 
more  salary.  I  must  give  my  answer  by  to- 
morrow. I  must  make  some  excuse  for  leaving. 
I've  thought  it  all  over  and  don't  know  what  to 
say.  My  present  employers  have  treated  me 
well.     I  want  your  advice.' 

"  The  good  preacher  protests  that  it  is  a 
delicate  question  to  put  to  a  stranger,  even  if 
that  stranger  happens  to  be  a  minister. 

"  4  Is  the  firm  a  good  one  ?  Are  you  treated 
well  ?  Haven't  you  a  fair  chance  ?  Aren't  they 
honourable  men  ?  ' 

"  The  answer  to  all  these  questions  was  in  the 
affirmative. 


218    THE   THIRTEENTH  MILESTONE 

"  '  But  you  could  tell  me  whether  it  would  be 
right  for  me  to  do  it,  and — and — if  I  could  get  a 
letter  of  recommendation  from  you  it  would  help 
me.' 

"  '  Why  don't  you  ask  your  mother  or  father 
for  advice  ?  ' 

"  '  They  are  dead.' 

44  '  Was  your  mother  a  Christian  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  '  Then  get  down  on  your  knees  here  and  lift 
your  face  to  heaven.  Ask  your  angel  mother  if 
you  would  be  doing  right.' 

"  The  young  man's  eyes  fall  to  the  floor.  He 
toys  nervously  with  his  hat  and  backs  out  of  the 
hall  to  the  door.  As  he  turns  the  knob  he  holds 
out  his  right-hand  to  the  preacher  and  whispers  : 

U'I  thank  you  for  your  advice.  I'll  not  leave 
my  present  employer.' 

"  Now  the  great  preacher  hastily  puts  on  a 
thick  overcoat  and,  taking  a  heavy  walking-stick 
in  hand,  says :  '  We'll  go  now.'  He  calls  a 
cheery  '  goodbye  '  to  Mrs.  Talmage  and  closes 
the  big  door  behind  him.  The  air  is  crispy  and  in- 
vigorating. Once  in  the  street  the  preacher 
throws  back  his  shoulders  until  his  form  is  as 
straight  as  that  of  an  Indian.  His  blue  eyes  look 
out  from  behind  a  pair  of  shaggy  eyebrows.  They 
snap  and  sparkle  like  a  schoolboy's.  The  face 
denotes  health  and  strength.  The  preacher  is 
fond  of  walking  and  strides  along  with  giant 
steps.  The  colour  quickly  mounts  to  his  cheeks 
and  reveals  a  face  free  from  lines  and  full  of  health 
and  manly  vigour.  He  has  noted  the  direction 
that  he  is  to  take  carefully.  As  he  walks  along 
the  street  he  is  noticed  by  everybody.  His  figure 
is  a  familiar  one  in  the  streets  of  Brooklyn.  Nearly 
everybody  bows  to  him.  He  has  a  hearty  '  How 
are  you  to-day  ?  '  for  all. 


A  PASTORAL  VISIT  219 

"  Our  direction  lies  in  a  thickly-populated 
section,  not  many  blocks  from  the  water  front. 
It  is  in  the  tenement  district  where  dozens  of 
families  are  huddled  together  in  one  house.  We 
pause  in  front  of  a  rickety  building  and  stop  an 
urchin  in  the  hallway,  who  replies  to  the  question 
that  we  are  in  the  right  house.  Then  the  good 
Doctor  pulls  out  of  his  pocket  the  letter  he  re- 
ceived some  hours  ago  from  the  grief -stricken 
young  mother  whose  baby  was  ill  and  who  asked 
for  aid. 

44  Up  flight  after  flight  of  stairs  we  go  ;  two 
storeys,  three,  four,  five.  As  we  reach  the  landing, 
a  tidy  young  woman  appears.  She  is  holding  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  sobbing  to  break  her  heart. 

"  *  Oh,  I  knew  you  would  come,'  she  says,  as 
the  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks  ;  '  I  used  to  go 
to  your  church,  and  I  know  how  deeply  your 
sermons  touched  me.  Oh  !  That  was  long  ago. 
It  was  before  I  knew  John,  and  before  our  baby 
came.' 

"  Here  the  speaker  broke  down  completely. 

44  '  But  it's  all  over  now,'  she  began  again. 

"  '  John  has  ill-used  me,  and  beaten  me,  and 
forced  me  to  support  him  in  drunkenness.  I 
could  stand  all  that  for  my  baby's  sake.' 

44  She  had  sunk  to  the  floor  on  her  knees.  She 
was  pouring  out  her  soul  in  agony  of  grief. 

44  4  Oh  !  my  baby,  my  baby  !  '  she  cried 
piteously.  '  Why  were  you  taken  ?  Oh,  the 
blow  is  too  much  !  I  can't  stand  it.  Merciful 
Father,  have  I  not  suffered  enough  ?  ' 

44  She  fell  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  The  heavy 
breathing  and  sobbing  continued.  We  looked 
into  the  little  room.  It  was  scrupulously  clean, 
but  barren  of  furniture  and  even  the  rudest  com- 
forts of  a  home.  The  window  curtains  are  pulled 
down,  but  a  ray  of  bright  sunlight  shoots  in  and 


220    THE   THIRTEENTH   MILESTONE 

lying  on  the  apology  for  a  bed  is  a  babe.  Its  eyes 
are  closed.  Its  face  is  as  white  as  alabaster.  The 
little  thin  hands  are  folded  across  its  tiny  breast. 
Its  sufferings  are  over. 

"  The  Angel  of  Death  had  touched  its  forehead 
with  its  icy  finger  and  its  spirit  had  flown  to  the 
clouds. 

"  The  end  had  come  before  the  preacher  could 
offer  aid. 

"  What  a  scene  it  was  ! 

."  Here,  in  one  of  the  biggest  cities  in  the  world, 
an  innocent  child  had  died  of  hunger,  and  because 
its  mother  was  too  poor  to  pay  for  medical 
attendance. 

"  A  word  or  two  was  whispered  in  the  mother's 
ear  and  we  pass  down  the  creaking  stairs  to  the 
street.  The  sun  is  shining  brightly.  A  half- 
dozen  romping  children  are  on  their  way  home  to 
lunch.  The  business  of  the  great  city  is  moving 
briskly.  It  is  Christmas  week  and  the  air  is 
redolent  with  the  suggestions  of  good  things  to 
come  and  visions  of  Kriss  Kringle.  Truck 
drivers  are  whipping  their  horses  and  swearing 
at  others  in  their  way.  An  organ-grinder  is 
playing  '  Sweet  violets  '  on  a  neighbouring  corner. 
Everyone  in  the  streets  is  of  smiling  face  and 
happy." 

The  picture  is  not  mine,  nor  could  I  have  drawn 
one  of  myself,  but  it  is  a  sketch  illustrating  the 
almost  daily  experiences  of  a  "  popular  "  minister, 
as  I  was  called.  It  was  estimated  that  my  weekly 
sermons,  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  reached 
180,000,000  people  every  Monday  morning — the 
year  1888.  This  was  gratifying  to  a  man  who, 
in  his  student  days,  had  been  told  that  he  would 
never  be  fit  to  preach  the  Gospel  in  any  American 
pulpit.  I  thanked  God  for  the  great  opportunity 
of  His  blessings. 


DR.  TALMAGE  AS  CHAPLAIN  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH  REGIMENT. 


MY  COMMISSION  AS  CHAPLAIN     221 

In  the  spring  of  1888  I  received  the  honour  of 
being  made  chaplain  of  the  "  Old  Thirteenth  " 
Regiment  of  the  National  Guard,  with  a  com- 
mission as  captain,  to  succeed  my  old  friend  and 
fellow-worker,  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  who  had 
died.  Although  I  was  a  very  busy  man  I  accepted 
it,  because  I  had  always  felt  it  my  duty  to  be  a 
part  of  any  public-spirited  enterprise.  On  March 
7th,  1888,  before  a  vast  assembly,  the  oath  was 
administered  by  Colonel  Austen,  and  I  received 
my  commission.  Memories  of  my  actual,  though 
brief,  sight  of  war,  at  Sharpsburg  and  Hagerstown, 
where  the  hospitals  were  filled  with  wounded 
soldiers,  mingled  faintly  with  the  actual  scene  of 
peace  and  plenty  around  me  at  that  moment. 
We  needed  no  epaulet  then  but  the  shoulder  that 
is  muscular,  and  we  needed  no  commanding 
officer  but  the  steadiness  of  our  own  nerves.  The 
Thirteenth  Regiment  was  at  the  height  of  its 
prosperity  then  ;  our  band,  under  the  leadership 
of  Fred  Inness,  was  the  best  in  the  city.  I  re- 
membered it  well  because,  in  the  parade  on 
Decoration  Day,  I  was  on  horseback  riding  a 
somewhat  unmusical  horse.  It  was  comforting, 
if  not  strictly  true,  to  read  in  the  newspaper  the 
following  day  that  "  Doctor  Talmage  rides  his 
horse  with  dash  and  skill." 

The  association  of  ideas  in  American  life  is  a 
wonderful  mixture  of  the  appropriate  and  the  in- 
appropriate. Because  my  church  was  crowded, 
because  I  lived  in  a  comfortable  house,  because 
I  could  become,  on  occasions,  a  preacher  on  horse- 
back, I  was  rated  as  a  millionaire  clergyman.  It 
was  amusing  to  read  about,  but  difficult  to  live 
up  to.  There  were  many  calculations  in  the  news- 
papers as  to  my  income.  Some  of  the  more 
moderate  figures  were  correct.  My  salary  was 
$12,000  as  pastor  of  the  Tabernacle.    I  have  made 


222    THE   THIRTEENTH   MILESTONE 

over  $20,000  a  year  from  my  lectures.  From 
the  publication  of  my  sermons  my  income  was 
equal  to  my  salary.  I  received  $5,000  a  year  as 
editor  of  a  popular  monthly  ;  I  sometimes  wrote 
an  article  that  paid  me  $150  or  more,  and 
a  single  marriage  fee  was  often  as  high  as  $250. 
There  were  some  royalties  on  my  books. 

We  lived  well,  dressed  comfortably  ;  but  there 
were  many  demands  on  me  then,  as  on  all  public 
men,  and  I  needed  all  I  could  earn.  I  carried  a 
life  insurance  of  $75,000.  All  this  was  a  long  way 
from  being  a  Croesus  of  the  clergy,  however.  I 
mention  these  figures  and  facts  because  they 
stimulate  to  me,  as  I  hope  they  will  to  others,  the 
possibilities  of  temporal  welfare  in  a  minister's 
life,  provided  he  works  hard  and  is  faithful  to  the 
tremendous  trusts  of  his  calling. 

A  man's  industry  is  the  whole  of  that  man, 
just  as  his  laziness  is  the  end  of  him.  I  always 
believed  heartily,  profoundly,  in  the  equality  of 
a  man's  salvation  with  a  man's  self-respect  in 
temporal  affairs.  I  am  sure  that  whoever  keeps 
the  books  in  Heaven  credits  the  account  of  a  new 
arrival  with  the  exact  amount  of  salvation  he  or 
she  has  achieved,  making  a  due  allowance  for  the 
amounts  earned  and  paid  over  to  the  causes  of 
charity,  kindliness,  and  mercy. 

I  always  believed  in  the  business  and  the 
religious  method  of  the  Salvation  Army,  because 
it  was  an  effort  to  discipline  salvation  on  a  work- 
ing basis.  When  the  Salvation  Army  first  began  its 
meetings  in  Brooklyn  its  members  were  hooted  and 
insulted  in  the  streets  to  an  extent  that  rendered 
their  meetings  almost  impossible.  I  was  requested 
to  present  a  petition  to  Mayor  Whitney  asking 
protection  for  them  in  the  streets  of  the  city, 
People  residing  near  the  Salvation  headquarters 
were  in  constant  danger  of  annoyance  from  the 


DINNERS  AT  THE  PRESS  CLUB      223 

mobs  that  gathered  about  them.  It  was  the  fault 
of  the  Brooklyn  ruffianism.  I  demanded  that 
the  Salvation  Army  be  permitted  to  hold  meet- 
ings and  march  in  processions  unmolested.  No 
one  was  ever  killed  by  a  street  hosannah,  no 
one  was  ever  hurt  by  hearing  a  hallelujah.  The 
more  inspiring  the  music  the  more  virile  the 
optimism  we  can  show,  the  more  good  we  can  do 
each  other  in  the  climb  to  Paradise.  A  minister's 
duty  in  his  own  community,  and  in  all  other 
communities  in  which  he  may  find  himself,  is  to 
make  the  great  men  of  his  time  understand  him 
and  like  him. 

A  minister  who  could  adapt  himself  to  the 
lights  and  shadows  of  human  character  in  men  of 
prominence  enjoyed  many  opportunities  that 
were  enlightening.  One  met  them,  these  men  of 
many  talents,  at  their  best  at  dinners  and  ban- 
quets.   It  was  then  they  were  in  their  splendour. 

Those  dinners  at  the  Press  Club  in  1888,  what 
a  treat  they  were  !  In  the  days  of  John  A. 
Cockerill,  the  handsome,  dashing  "  Colonel," 
as  he  was  called,  of  Mayor  Grant  the  suave, 
Chauncey  M.  Depew  the  wit,  of  Charles  Emory 
Smith  the  conservative  journalist,  of  Henry 
George  the  Socialist,  Moses  P.  Handy  the 
"  Major,"  of  Roswell  P.  Flower,  of  Judge  Henry 
Hilton,  of  General  Felix  Agnus — and  of  Hermann, 
the  original,  the  great,  the  magic  wonder-maker 
of  the  times.  They  were  the  leading  spirits  of  an 
army  of  bright  men  who  pushed  the  world  upside 
down,  or  rolled  it  over  and  over,  or  made  it  stand 
still,  according  to  how  they  felt.  Mingling  with 
these  arbiters  of  our  fate  were  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men.  At  one  of  these  dinners  I  remem- 
ber seeing  Inspector  Byrnes,  the  Sherlock  Holmes 
of  American  crime,  Colonel  Ochiltree,  the  red 
savage,  Steven  Fiske,  Samuel  Carpenter,  Judge 


224    THE   THIRTEENTH   MILESTONE 

David  McAdam,  John  W.  Keller,  Judge  Gedney, 
"  Pat  "  Gilmore,  Rufus  Hatch,  General  Horatio  C. 
King,  Frank  B.  Thurber,  J.  Amory  Knox,  E.  B. 
Harper,  W.  J.  Arkell,  Dr.  Nagle,  the  poet  Geoghe- 
ghan4  Doc  White,  and  Joseph  Howard,  jun.  They 
were  the  old  guard  of  the  land  of  Bohemia,  where 
a  minister's  voice  sounded  good  to  them  if  it  was 
a  voice  without  cant  or  religious  hypocrisy.  I 
remember  a  letter  sent  by  President  Harrison  to 
one  of  these  dinners,  in  which,  after  acknowledg- 
ing the  receipt  of  an  invitation  to  attend,  he 
regretted  being  unable  to  be  present  at  "so 
attractive  an  event." 

Among  the  men  whom  I  first  met  at  this  time, 
and  who  made  an  impression  of  lasting  respect 
upon  me,  was  Henry  Cabot  Lodge.  He  was  the 
guest  of  General  Stewart  L.  Woodford,  at  a  break- 
fast given  in  his  honour  in  the  spring  of  1888  at 
the  Hamilton  Club.  General  Woodford  invited 
me,  among  others,  to  meet  him.  We  all  came — 
Mr.  Benjamin  A.  Stillman,  Mr.  J.  S.  T.  Stranahan, 
Mr.  Theodore  Roosevelt,  Judge  C.  R.  Pratt,  ex- 
Mayor  Schroeder,  Mr.  John  Winslow,  president 
of  the  New  England  Society,  Mr.  George  M. 
Olcott,  Mr.  William  Copeland  Wallace,  Colonel 
Albert  P.  Lamb,  Mr.  Charles  A.  Moore,  Mr. 
William  B.  Williams,  Mr.  Ethan  Allen  Doty,  Mr. 
James  S.  Case,  Mr.  T.  L.  Woodruff.  It  was  a 
social  innovation  then  to  arrange  a  gathering  of 
this  sort  at  11  a.m.  and  call  it  a  breakfast.  It 
came  from  England.  Mr.  Lodge  was  only  in 
town  on  a  visit  for  a  few  days,  chiefly,  I  think, 
to  attend  the  annual  dinner  of  the  "  Sunrise 
Sons,"  as  the  members  of  the  New  England 
society  were  called.  As  I  read  these  names  again, 
how  big  some  of  them  look  now,  in  the  world's  note- 
book of  celebrities.  Some  of  them  were  just  beginn- 
ing to  learn  the  pleasant  taste  of  ambitious  careers. 


WORK  225 

Most  of  them  had  discovered  that  ambition  was 
the  gift  of  hard  work.  There  is  more  health 
in  work  than  in  any  medicine  I  ever  heard  of. 

Work  is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  people  alive. 
Whatever  posterity  may  proclaim  for  me,  I  always 
had  the  reputation  of  being  a  worker.  Perhaps 
for  this  reason  I  became  the  object  of  a  micro- 
scopic investigation  before  the  people  in  1888. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  any  notable 
attention  had  been  taken  of  me  in  my  own 
country,  that  was  not  a  personal  notoriety  over 
some  conflict  of  the  hour.  Whenever  the  Ameri- 
can newspaper  begins  to  describe  your  home  life 
with  an  air  of  analysis  that  is  not  libellous  you  are 
among  the  famous.  It  took  me  a  little  while  to 
understand  this.  A  man's  private  life  is  of  such 
indifferent  character  to  himself,  unless  he  be  an 
official  representative  of  the  people,  that  I  never 
quite  appreciated  the  importance  given  to  mine, 
at  this  time,  in  Brooklyn.  Chiefly  because  I  had 
made  money  as  a  writer,  my  fellow-citizens  were 
curious  to  know  how,  in  the  clerical  profession, 
it  could  be  made.  Articles  appeared  constantly 
in  the  newspapers  with  headlines  like  these — 
"  Dr.  Talmage  at  Home,"  u  In  a  Clergyman's 
Study,"  "Dr.  Talmage's  Wealth,"  "Talmage 
Interviewed."  Nearly  all  of  them  began  with  the 
American  view  point  uppermost,  in  this  fashion  : 

"  The  American  preacher  lives  in  a  luxurious 
home." 

"  His  income,  from  all  sources,  exceeds  that  of 
the  President  of  the  United  States." 

"  The  impression  is  everywhere  that  Dr.  Tal- 
mage is  very  rich." 

I  regretted  this  because  there  is  a  notion  that 
a  minister  of  the  Gospel  cannot  accumulate  money 
for  himself,  that  he  should  not  do  so  if  he  could, 
that  his  duty  consists  in  collecting  money  for  his 


226  THE   THIRTEENTH   MILESTONE 

church,  his  parish,  his  mission — for  anything  and 
everyone  but  his  own  temporal  prosperity.  I  had 
done  this  all  my  life.  I  can  solemnly  say  that  I 
never  sought  the  financial  success  which  in  some 
measure  came  to  me.  I  regarded  the  money  which 
I  received  for  my  work  as  pastor  of  the  Tabernacle, 
or  from  other  sources  as  an  earning  capacity  that 
is  due  to  every  working  man.  I  was  able  to  do 
more  work  than  some,  because  the  motives  of 
my  whole  life  have  insisted  that  I  work  hard. 
The  impetus  of  my  strength  was  not  abnormal, 
it  was  merely  the  daily  requirement  of  my  health 
that  I  work  as  hard  as  I  knew  how  as  long  as  I 
could.  Restlessness  was  an  element  of  life  with 
me.  I  could  not  keep  still  any  length  of  time.  My 
mind  had  acquired  the  habit  of  ideas,  and  my 
hands  were  always  full  of  unfinished  labours. 

I  remember  trying  once  to  sit  still  at  a  concert 
of  Gilmore's  band,  at  Manhattan  Beach.  After 
hearing  one  selection  I  found  myself  unable  to 
listen  any  farther — I  could  not  sit  quiet  for  longer. 
I  rarely  allowed  myself  more  than  five  minutes 
for  shaving,  no  matter  whether  the  razor  were 
sharp  or  blunt.  They  used  to  tell  me  that  I  wore 
a  black  bow  tie  till  it  was  not  fit  to  wear.  On  the 
trains  I  slept  a  great  deal.  Sleep  is  the  great 
storage  battery  of  life.  Four  days  of  the  week  I 
was  on  the  train.  I  rose  every  morning  at  six. 
The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  glance  over  the 
morning  newspaper,  to  catch  in  this  whispering 
gallery  of  the  world  the  life  of  a  new  day.  First 
the  cable  news,  then  the  editorials,  then  the  news 
about  ourselves.  I  received  the  principal  news- 
papers of  almost  every  big  city  in  the  morning 
mail  I  enjoyed  the  caricatures  of  myself,  they 
made  me  laugh.  If  a  man  poked  fun  at  me  with 
true  wit  I  was  his  friend.  They  were  clever 
fellows  those  newspaper  humorists.     I  consider 


MY  HABITS  OF  LIFE  227 

walking  a  very  important  exercise — not  merely  a 
stroll  but  a  good  long  walk.  Often  I  used  to  go 
from  the  Grand  Central  Depot  in  New  York  to  my 
home  in  Brooklyn.  There  and  back  was  my 
usual  promenade.  Seven  miles  should  be  an 
average  walk  for  a  man  past  fifty  every  day.  I 
have  made  fifteen  and  twenty  miles  without 
fatigue.  I  always  dined  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 
Contrary  to  "  Combes'  Physiology,"  I  always 
took  a  nap  after  dinner.  In  my  boyhood  days 
this  was  a  book  that  opposed  the  habit.  Combes 
said  that  he  thought  it  very  injurious  to  sleep 
after  dinner,  but  I  saw  the  cow  lie  down  after 
eating,  and  the  horse,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
Combes  was  wrong.  A  morning  bath  is  absolutely 
indispensable.  When  I  was  in  college  there  were  no 
luxurious  hot  and  cold  bath  rooms.  I  often  had  to 
break  the  ice  in  my  pitcher  to  get  at  the  water. 

These  were  the  habits  of  my  life,  formed  in  my 
youth,  and  as  they  grew  upon  me  they  were  the 
sinews  that  kept  me  young  in  the  heart  and  brain 
and  muscle.  My  voice  rarely,  if  ever,  failed  me 
entirely.  In  1888,  to  my  surprise  and  delight, 
my  western  trips  had  become  ovations  that  no 
human  being  could  fail  to  enjoy.  In  St.  Paul, 
Duluth,  Minneapolis,  the  crowds  in  and  about  the 
churches  where  I  preached  were  estimated  to  be 
over  twenty  thousand.  It  was  a  joy  to  live 
realising  the  service  one  could  be  to  others.  This 
year  of  1888  was  to  be  a  climax  to  so  many  aspi- 
rations of  my  life  that  I  am  forced  to  record  it  as 
one  of  the  most  important  of  all  my  working  years. 
No  event  of  any  consequence  in  the  country, 
social  or  political,  or  disastrous,  happened,  that 
my  name  was  not  available  to  the  ethical  phase  of 
its  development.  Newspaper  squibs  of  all  sorts 
reflect  this  fact  in  some  way.  Here  is  one  that 
illustrates  my  meaning  : 


228    THE   THIRTEENTH   MILESTONE 

"  Only  Talmage  ! 

"  The  weary  husband  was  lounging  in  the  old 
armchair  reading  before  the  fire  after  the  day's 
work.  Suddenly  he  brought  down  his  hand 
vigorously  upon  his  knee,  exclaiming,  '  That's 
so  !  That's  so  !  '  A  minute  after,  he  cried  again, 
« Well,  I  should  say.'  Then  later,  'Good  for  you  ; 
hit  them  right  and  left.'  Soon  he  stretched 
himself  out  at  full  length  in  the  chair,  let  his 
right  hand,  holding  the  paper,  drop  nearly  to  the 
floor,  threw  up  his  left  and  laughed  aloud  until 
the  rafters  rang.  His  anxious  wife  inquired, '  What 
is  it  so  funny,  John  ?  ' 

"  He  made  no  reply,  but  lifted  the  paper  again, 
straightened  himself  up,  and  went  on  reading. 
Very  quiet  he  now  grew  by  degrees.  Then  slyly  he 
slipped  his  left  hand  around  and  drew  out  his 
handkerchief,  wiped  his  brow  and  lips  by  way 
of  excuse  and  gave  his  eyelids  a  passing  dash. 
The  very  next  moment  he  pressed  the  handker- 
chief to  his  eyes  and  let  the  paper  drop  to  the 
floor,  saying,  c  Well,  that's  wonderful.'  '  What 
is  it,  John  ?  '  his  good  wife  inquired  again. 
4  Oh  !   It's  only  Talmage  !  '  " 

My  contemporaries  in  Brooklyn  celebrity  at 
this  time  were  unusual  men.  Some  of  them  were 
dear  friends,  some  of  them  close  friends,  some  of 
them  advisers  or  champions,  guardians  of  my 
peace — all  of  them  friends. 

About  this  time  I  visited  Johnstown,  shortly 
after  the  flood.  My  heart  was  weary  with  the 
scenes  of  desolation  about  me.  It  did  not  seem 
possible  that  the  hospitable  city  of  Johnstown  I 
had  known  in  other  days  could  be  so  tumbled 
down  by  disaster.  Where  I  had  once  seen  the 
street,  equal  in  style  to  Euclid  Avenue  in 
Cleveland,  I  found  a  long  ridge  of  sand  strewn 
with  planks  and   driftwood.     By  a  wave  from 


THE  JOHNSTOWN  FLOOD  229 

twelve  to  twenty  feet  high,  800  houses  were 
crushed,  twenty-eight  huge  locomotives  from  the 
round  house  were  destroyed,  hundreds  of  people 
dead  and  dying  in  its  anger.  Two  thousand  dead 
were  found,  2,000  missing,  was  the  record  the  day 
I  was  there.  The  place  became  used  to  death. 
It  was  not  a  sensation  to  the  survivors  to  see  it 
about  them.  I  saw  a  human  body  taken  out  of 
the  ruins  as  if  it  had  been  a  stick  of  wood.  No 
crowd  gathered  about  it.  Some  workmen  a 
hundred  feet  away  did  not  stop  their  work  to  see. 
The  devastation  was  far  worse  than  was  ever  told. 
The  worst  part  of  it  could  not  even  be  seen.  The 
heart-wreck  was  the  unseen  tragedy  of  this  un- 
fortunate American  city.  From  Brooklyn  I 
helped  to  send  temporary  relief.  With  a  wooden 
box  in  my  hand  I,  with  others,  collected  from  the 
bounty  of  that  vast  meeting  in  the  Academy  of 
Music.  The  exact  amount  paid  over  by  our  relief 
committee  in  all  was  $95,905.  There  was  no  end 
to  the  demand  upon  one's  energy  in  all  directions. 

I  was  called  upon  in  September,  1888,  to  lay 
the  corner  stone  of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church 
at  Far-Rock-away,  and  amid  the  imposing  cere- 
monies I  predicted  the  great  future  of  Long 
Island.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Long  Island 
would  some  day  be  the  London  of  America,  filled 
with  the  most  prominent  churches  of  the  country. 

While  in  the  plans  of  others  I  was  an  impulse  at 
least  towards  success,  in  my  own  plans,  how  often 
I  have  been  scourged  and  beaten  to  earth.  As  it 
had  been  before,  so  it  was  in  this  zenith  of  my 
personal  progress.  To  my  amazement,  chagrin 
and  despair,  on  the  morning  of  October  13,  1889, 
our  beautiful  church  was  again  burned  to  the 
ground. 


THE  FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

1889—1891 

For  fifteen  years,  to  a  large  part  of  the  public,  I 
had  been  an  experiment  in  church  affairs.  In 
1889  I  had  caught  up  with  the  world  and  the 
things  I  had  been  doing  and  thinking  and  hoping 
became  suitable  for  the  world.  In  the  retrospect 
of  those  things  I  had  left  behind  what  gratitude 
I  felt  for  their  strife  and  struggle  !  A  minister  of 
the  Gospel  is  not  only  a  sentinel  of  divine  orders, 
he  must  also  have  deep  convictions  of  his  author- 
ity to  resist  attack  in  his  own  way,  by  his  own 
force,  with  his  own  strength  and  faith.  When, 
on  June  3,  1873,  I  laid  the  corner-stone  of  the 
new  tabernacle,  I  dedicated  the  sacred  building 
as  a  stronghold  against  rationalism  and  humani- 
tarianism.  I  knew  then  that  this  statement  was 
regarded  as  questionable  orthodoxy,  and  I  myself 
had  become  the  curious  symbol  of  a  new  religion. 
Still  I  pursued  my  course,  an  independent  sentry 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  old  religious  camping- 
ground,  but  inspired  with  the  converting  grace  I 
had  received  in  my  boyhood,  my  duty  was  clearly 
not  so  much  a  duty  of  regulations  as  it  was  a 
conception,  a  sympathy,  a  command  to  the 
Christian  needs  of  the  human  race. 

When  the  first  Tabernacle  was  consumed  by 

230 


THE  FLAMES  GOD'S  UTTERANCES  231 

fire  my  utterances  were  criticised  and  my  enthu- 
siasm to  rebuild  it  was  misconstrued.  My  con- 
victions then  were  the  same,  they  have  always 
been  the  same.  To  me  it  seemed  that  God's  most 
vehement  utterances  had  been  in  flames  of  fire. 
The  most  tremendous  lesson  He  ever  gave  to  New 
York  was  in  the  conflagration  of  1835  ;  to  Chicago 
in  the  conflagration  of  1871  ;  to  Boston  in  the 
conflagration  of  1872  ;  to  my  own  congregation 
in  the  fiery  downfall  of  the  Tabernacle.  Some 
saw  in  the  flames  that  roared  through  its  organ 
pipes  a  requiem,  nothing  but  unmitigated  disaster, 
while  others  of  us  heard  the  voice  of  God,  as  from 
Heaven,  sounding  through  the  crackling  thunder 
of  that  awful  day,  saying,  "  He  shall  baptise  you 
with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  with  Fire  !  " 

It  was  a  very  different  state  of  public  feeling 
which  met  the  disaster  that  came  to  the  Taber- 
nacle on  that  early  Sabbath  morning  of  October 
13,  1889.  I  had  a  congregation  of  millions  all 
over  the  world  to  appeal  to.  I  stood  before  them, 
accredited  in  the  religious  course  I  had  pursued, 
approved  as  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  upheld  as  a 
man  and  a  preacher.  The  hand  of  Providence  is 
always  a  mysterious  grasp  of  life  that  confuses 
and  dismays,  but  it  always  rebuilds,  restores,  and 
prophesies. 

The  second  Tabernacle  was  destroyed  during 
a  terrific  thunderstorm.  It  was  crumpled  and 
torn  by  the  winds  and  the  flames  of  heaven.  I 
watched  the  fire  from  the  cupola  of  my  house  in 
silent  abnegation.  The  history  of  the  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle  had  been  strange  and  peculiar  all  the 
way  through.  Things  that  seemed  to  be  against  us 
always  turned  out  finally  for  us.  Our  brightest 
and  best  days  always  follow  disaster.  Our  en- 
largements of  the  building  had  never  met  our 
needs.     Our  plans  had  pleased  the  people,  but  we 


232    THE  FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

needed  improvements.  In  this  spirit  I  accepted 
the  situation,  and  the  Board  of  Trustees  sustained 
me.  Our  insurance  on  the  church  building  was 
over  §120,000.  I  made  an  appeal  to  the  people 
of  Brooklyn  and  to  the  thousands  of  readers  my 
sermons  had  gained,  for  the  sum  of  $100,000. 
It  would  be  much  easier  to  accomplish,  I  felt,  than 
it  had  been  before. 

At  my  house  in  Brooklyn,  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  of  the  fire,  the  following  resolutions  were 
passed  by  the  Board  of  Trustees  : — 

"  Resolved — that  we  bow  in  humble  sub- 
mission to  the  Providence  which  this  morning 
removed  our  beloved  Church,  and  while  we  cannot 
fully  understand  the  meaning  of  that  Providence 
we  have  faith  that  there  is  kindness  as  well  as 
severity  in  the  stroke. 

"  Resolved  : — That  if  God  and  the  people  help 
us  we  will  proceed  at  once  to  rebuild,  and  that 
we  rear  a  larger  structure  to  meet  the  demands 
of  our  congregation,  the  locality  and  style  of  the 
building  to  be  indicated  by  the  amount  of  con- 
tributions made." 

A  committee  was  immediately  formed  to  select 
a  temporary  place  of  worship,  and  the  Academy  of 
Music  was  selected,  because  of  its  size  and  location. 

I  was  asked  for  a  statement  to  the  people 
through  the  press.  From  a  scrap-book  I  copy  this 
statement : — 

"  To  the  People— 

"  By  sudden  calamity  we  are  without  a  church. 
The  building  associated  with  so  much  that  is  dear 
to  us  is  in  ashes.  In  behalf  of  my  stricken  con- 
gregation I  make  appeal  for  help.  Our  church 
has  never  confined  its  work  to  this  locality.  Our 
church  has  never  been  sufficient  either  in  size  or 
appointments   for   the   people   who   came.      We 


APPEAL  FOR  NEW  TABERNACLE  233 

want  to  build  something  worthy  of  our  city  and 
worthy  of  the  cause  of  God. 

"  We  want  $100,000,  which,  added  to  the 
insurance,  will  build  what  is  needed.  I  make 
appeal  to  all  our  friends  throughout  Christendom, 
to  all  denominations,  to  all  creeds  and  to  those 
of  no  creed  at  all,  to  come  to  our  rescue.  I  ask 
all  readers  of  my  sermons  the  world  over  to  con- 
tribute as  far  as  their  means  will  allow.  What  we 
do  as  a  Church  depends  upon  the  immediate  response 
made  to  this  call.  I  was  on  the  eve  of  departure 
for  a  brief  visit  to  the  Holy  Land  that  I  might  be 
better  prepared  for  my  work  here,  but  that  visit 
must  be  postponed.  I  cannot  leave  until  some- 
thing is  done  to  decide  our  future. 

"  May  the  God  who  has  our  destiny  as  in- 
dividuals and  as  churches  in  His  hand  appear  for 
our  deliverance  ! 

"Responses  to  this  appeal  to  the  people  may  be 
sent  to  me  in  Brooklyn,  and  I  will  with  my  own 
hand  acknowledge  the  receipt  thereof. 

"  T.  DeWitt  Talmage." 

I  had  planned  to  sail  for  the  Holy  Land  on 
October  30,  but  the  disaster  that  had  come  upon 
us  seemed  to  make  it  impossible.  I  had  almost 
given  it  up.  There  followed  such  an  universal 
response  to  my  appeal,  such  a  remarkable  current 
of  sympathy,  however,  that  completely  over- 
whelmed me,  so  that  by  the  grace  of  God  I  was 
able  to  sail.  To  the  trustees  of  the  Tabernacle 
much  of  this  was  due.  They  were  the  men  who 
stood  by  me,  my  friends,  my  advisers.  I  record 
their  names  as  the  Christian  guardians  of  my 
destiny  through  danger  and  through  safety. 
They  were  Dr.  Harrison  A.  Tucker,  John  WTood, 
Alexander  McLean,  E.  H.  Lawrence,  and  Charles 
Darling.     In  a  notebook  I  find  recorded  also  the 


234    THE   FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

names  of  some  of  the^  first  subscribers  to  the 
new  Tabernacle.  They  | were  the  real  builders. 
Wechsler  and  Abraham  were  among  the  first 
to  contribute  $100,  "  Texas  Sif tings  "  through 
J.  Amory  Knox  sent  $25,  and  "  Judge  "  for- 
warded a  cheque  for  the  same  amount,  with  the 
declaration  that  all  other  periodicals  in  the  United 
States  ought  to  go  and  do  likewise.  A.  E.  Coates 
sent  $200,  E.  M.  Knox  $200,  A.  J.  Nutting  $100, 
Benjamin  L.  Fairchild  $100,  Joseph  E.  Carson 
$100,  Haviland  and  Sons  $25,  Francis  H.  Stuart, 
M.D.,  $25,  Giles  F.  Bushnell  $25,  and  Pauline  E. 
Martin  $25. 

Even  the  small  children,  the  poor,  the  aged, 
sent  in  their  dollars.  About  one  thousand  dollars 
was  contributed  the  first  day.  Everything  was 
done  by  the  trustees  and  the  people,  to  expedite 
the  plans  of  the  New  Tabernacle  so  that  in  two 
weeks  from  the  date  of  the  fire  I  broke  ground 
for  what  was  to  be  the  largest  church  in  the  world 
of  a  Protestant  denomination,  on  the  corner  of 
Clinton  and  Greene  Avenues.  That  afternoon  of 
October  28,  1889,  when  I  stood  in  the  enclosure 
arranged  for  me,  and  consecrated  the  ground  to 
the  word  of  God,  was  another  moment  of  supreme 
joy  to  me.  It  was  said  that  those  .who  witnessed 
the  ceremony  were  impressed  with  the  importance 
of  it  in  the  course  of  my  own  life  and  in  the  history 
of  Christianity.  To  me  it  was  akin  to  those  preg- 
nant hours  of  my  life  through  which  I  had  passed 
in  great  exaltation  of  spiritual  fervour. 

My  words  of  consecration  were  brief,  as  follows  : 

44  May  the  Lord  God  of  Abraham,  and  Isaac, 
and  Jacob,  and  Joshua,  and  Paul,  and  John 
Knox,  and  John  Wesley,  and  Hugh  Latimer,  and 
Bishop  Mcllvaine  take  possession  of  this  ground 
and  all  that  shall  be  built  upon  it." 

Before  me  was  a  vision  of  that  church,  its  Gothic 


THE  HOLY  LAND  235 

arches,  its  splendour  of  stained-glass  windows,  its 
spires  and  gables,  and,  as  I  saw  this  our  third 
Tabernacle  rise  up  before  me,  I  prayed  that  its 
windows  might  look  out  into  the  next  world  as 
well  as  this.  I  was  glad  that  I  had  waited  to  turn 
that  bit  of  God-like  earth  on  the  old  Marshall 
homestead  in  Brooklyn,  for  it  filled  my  heart  with 
a  spiritual  promise  and  potency  that  was  an 
invisible  cord  binding  me  during  my  pilgrimage 
to  Jordan  with  my  congregation  which  I  had  left 
behind. 

With  Mrs.  Talmage  and  my  daughter,  May 
Talmage,  I  sailed  on  the  "  City  of  Paris,"  on 
October  30,  1889,  to  complete  the  plan  I  had 
dreamed  of  for  years.  I  had  been  reverently 
anxious  to  actually  see  the  places  associated  with 
our  Lord's  life  and  death.  I  wanted  to  see 
Bethlehem  and  Nazareth,  and  Jerusalem  and 
Calvary,  so  intimately  connected  with  the  minis- 
try of  our  Saviour.  I  had  arranged  to  write  a 
Life  of  Christ,  and  this  trip  was  imperative. 
In  that  book  is  the  complete  record  of  this 
journey,  therefore  I  feel  that  other  things  that 
have  not  been  told  deserve  the  space  here  that 
would  otherwise  belong  to  my  recollections  of  the 
Holy  Land.  It  was  reported  that  while  in 
Jerusalem  I  made  an  effort  to  purchase  Calvary 
and  the  tomb  of  our  Saviour,  so  as  to  present  it 
to  the  Christian  Church  at  large.  I  was  so  im- 
pressed with  the  fact  that  part  of  this  sacred 
ground  was  being  used  as  a  Mohammedan  ceme- 
tery that  I  was  inspired  to  buy  it  in  token  of 
respect  to  all  Christendom.  Of  course  this  led  to 
much  criticism,  but  that  has  never  stopped  my 
convictions.  I  was  away  for  two  months,  returning 
in  February,  1890. 

During  my  absence  our  Sunday  services  were 
conducted   by  the   most   talented   preachers   we 


236    THE   FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

could  secure.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  days' 
influenza  while  I  was  in  Paris,  in  January,  just 
prior  to  my  return,  the  trip  was  a  glorious 
success.  According  to  the  editorial  opinion  of 
one  newspaper  I  had  "discovered  a  new  Adam 
that  was  to  prove  a  puissant  ally  in  his  future 
struggles  with  the  old  Adam."  This  was  not 
meant  to  be  friendly,  but  I  prefer  to  believe  that 
it  was  so  after  all.  In  England  I  was  promised, 
if  I  would  take  up  a  month's  preaching  tour  there, 
that  the  English  people  would  subscribe  five 
thousand  pounds  to  the  new  Tabernacle.  These 
and  other  invitations  were  tempting,  but  I  could 
not  alter  my  itinerary. 

While  in  England  I  received  an  invitation  from 
Mr.  Gladstone  to  visit  him  at  Hawarden.  He 
wired  me,  "  pray  come  to  Hawarden  to-morrow," 
and  on  January  24,  1890,  I  paid  my  visit.  I  was 
staying  at  the  Grand  Hotel  in  London  when 
the  telegram  was  handed  to  me.  With  the 
rest  of  the  world,  at  that  time,  I  regarded  Mr. 
Gladstone  as  the  most  wonderful  man  of  the 
century. 

He  came  into  the  room  at  Hawarden  where  I 
was  waiting  for  him,  an  alert,  eager,  kindly  man. 
He  was  not  the  grand  old  man  in  spirit,  whatever 
he  may  have  been  in  age.  He  was  lithe  of  body, 
his  step  was  elastic.  He  held  out  both  his  hands 
in  a  cordial  welcome.  He  spoke  first  of  the  wide 
publication  of  my  sermons  in  England,  and 
questioned  me  about  them.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  proposed  a  walk,  and  calling  his  dog  we  started 
out  for  what  was  in  fact  a  run  over  his  estate. 
Gladstone  was  the  only  man  I  ever  met  who 
walked  fast  enough  for  me.  Over  the  hills, 
through  his  magnificent  park,  everywhere  he 
pointed  out  the  stumps  of  trees  which  he  had  cut 
down.    Once  a  guest  of  his,  an  English  lord,  had 


MY  VISIT  TO   MR.   GLADSTONE        237 

died  emulating  Gladstone's  strenuous  custom. 
He  showed  me  the  place. 

"  No  man  who  has  heart  disease  ought  to  use 
the  axe,"  he  said  ;  "  that  very  stump  is  the  place 
where  my  friend  used  it,  and  died." 

He  rallied  the  American  tendency  to  exaggerate 
things  in  a  story  he  told  with  great  glee,  about  a 
fabulous  tree  in  California,  where  two  men 
cutting  at  it  on  opposite  sides  for  many  days 
were  entirely  oblivious  of  each  other's  presence. 
Each  one  believed  himself  to  be  a  lone  woodsman 
in  the  forest  until,  after  a  long  time,  they  met 
with  surprise  at  the  heart  of  the  tree.  American 
stories  seemed  to  tickle  him  immensely.  He  told 
another  kindred  one  of  a  fish  in  American  lakes, 
so  large  that  when  it  was  taken  out  of  the  water 
the  lake  was  perceptibly  lowered.  He  grew 
buoyant,  breezy,  fanciful  in  the  brisk  winter  air. 
Like  his  dog,  he  was  tingling  with  life.  He  liked 
to  throw  sticks  for  him,  to  see  him  jump  and  run. 

"  Look  at  that  dog's  eyes,  isn't  he  a  fine  fellow?" 
he  kept  asking.  His  knowledge  of  the  trees  on 
his  estate  was  historical.  He  knew  their  lineage 
and  characteristics  from  the  date  of  their  sapling 
age,  four  or  five  hundred  years  before.  The  old 
and  decrepit  aristocrats  of  his  forest  were  ten- 
derly bandaged,  their  arms  in  splints. 

"  Look  at  that  sycamore,"  he  said  ;  "  did  you 
find  in  the  Holy  Land  any  more  thrifty  than  that  ? 
You  know  sometimes  I  am  described  as  destroying 
my  trees.  I  only  destroy  the  bad  to  help  the 
good.  Since  I  have  thrown  my  park  open  to 
visitors  the  privilege  has  never  been  abused." 

We  drifted  upon  all  subjects,  rational,  political, 
religious,  ethical. 

"  Divorce  in  your  country,  is  it  not  a  menace  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  The  great  danger  is  re-marriage.     It  should 


238    THE   FOURTEENTH   MILESTONE 

be  forbidden  for  divorced  persons.  I  understand 
that  in  your  State  of  South  Carolina  there  is  no 
divorce.  I  believe  that  is  the  right  idea.  If  re- 
marriage were  impossible  then  divorce  would  be 
impossible,"  he  replied  to  his  own  question* 

Gladstone's  religious  instinct  was  prophetic  in 
its  grasp.  His  intellectual  approval  of  religious 
intention  was  the  test  of  his  faith.  He  applied 
to  the  exaltations  of  Christianity  the  reason  of 
human  fact.  I  was  forcibly  impressed  with  this 
when  he  told  me  of  an  incident  in  his  boyhood. 

"  I  read  something  in  4  Augustine  '  when  I  was 
a  boy,"  he  said,  "  which  struck  me  then  with  great 
force.  I  still  feel  it  to-day.  It  was  the  passage 
which  says,  '  When  the  human  race  rebelled 
against  God,  the  lower  nature  of  man  as  a  con- 
sequence rebelled  against  the  higher  nature.'  " 

I  asked  him  then  if  the  years  had  strengthened 
or  weakened  his  Christian  faith.  We  were  racing 
up  hill.  He  stopped  suddenly  on  the  hillside  and 
regarded  me  with  a  searching  earnestness,  a 
solemnity  that  made  me  quake.  Then  he  spoke 
slowly,  more  seriously  : 

"  Dr.  Talmage,  my  only  hope  for  the  world  is 
in  the  bringing  of  the  human  mind  into  contact 
with  divine  revelation.  Nearly  all  the  men  at 
the  top  in  our  country  are  believers  in  the 
Christian  religion.  The  four  leading  physicians  of 
England  are  devout  Christian  men.  I,  myself,  have 
been  in  the  Cabinet  forty-seven  years,  and  during 
all  that  time  I  have  been  associated  with  sixty 
of  the  chief  intellects  of  the  century.  I  can  think 
of  but  five  of  those  sixty  who  did  not  profess  the 
Christian  religion,  but  those  five  men  respected 
it.  We  may  talk  about  questions  of  the  day  here 
and  there,  but  there  is  only  one  question,  and  that 
is  how  to  apply  the  Gospel  to  all  circumstances 
and  conditions.     It  can  and  will  correct  all  that 


THE  GRAND  OLD  MAN  239 

is  wrong.  Have  you,  in  America,  any  of  the 
terrible  agnosticism  that  we  have  in  Europe  ? 
I  am  glad  none  of  my  children  are  afflicted  with 
it." 

I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  believe  that  many 
people  had  no  religion  in  their  heads,  but  a  good 
religion  in  their  hearts. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  and  I  can  give  you  an 
illustration,"  he  said. 

"  Yesterday,  Lord  Napier  was  buried  in  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral.  After  the  war  in  Africa  Lord 
Napier  was  here  for  a  few  days,  at  the  invitation 
of  Mrs.  Gladstone  and  myself,  and  we  walked  as 
we  are  walking  now.  He  told  me  this  story.  I 
cannot  remember  his  exact  words.  He  said  that 
just  when  the  troops  were  about  to  leave  Africa 
there  was  a  soldier  with  a  broken  leg.  He  was 
too  sick  to  take  along,  but  to  leave  him  behind 
seemed  barbaric.  Lord  Napier  ordered  him  to  be 
carried,  but  he  soon  became  too  ill  to  go  any 
further.  Lord  Napier  went  to  a  native  woman 
well  known  in  that  country  for  her  kindness,  and 
asked  her  to  take  care  of  the  soldier.  To  ensure 
his  care  she  was  offered  a  good  sum  of  money.  I 
remember  her  reply  as  Lord  Napier  repeated  it 
to  me.  '  No,  I  will  not  take  care  of  this  wounded 
soldier  for  the  money  you  offer  me,'  she  said  ;  c  I 
have  no  need  of  the  money.  My  father  and  mother 
have  a  comfortable  tent,  and  I  have  a  good  tent ; 
why  should  I  take  the  money  ?  If  you  will  leave 
him  here  I  will  take  care  of  him  for  the  sake  of 
the  love  of  God.'  " 

Gladstone  was  in  the  thick  of  political  scrim- 
mage over  Home  Rule,  and  he  talked  about  it 
with  me. 

"  It  seems  the  dispensation  of  God  that  I  should 
be  in  the  battle,"  he  said  ;  "  but  it  is  not  to  my 
taste.     I  never  had  any  option  in  the  matter.     I 


240    THE   FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

dislike  contests,  but  I  could  not  decline  this  con- 
troversy without  disgrace.  When  Ireland  showed 
herself  ready  to  adopt  a  righteous  constitution, 
and  do  her  full  duty,  I  hesitated  not  an  hour." 

Two  nights  before,  at  a  speech  in  Chester,  Mr. 
Gladstone  had  declared  that  the  increase  of  the 
American  navy  would  necessitate  the  increase  of 
the  British  navy.  I  rallied  him  about  this  state- 
ment, and  he  said,  "  Oh  !  Americans  like  to  hear 
the  plain  truth.  The  fact  is,  the  tie  between  the 
two  nations  is  growing  closer  every  year." 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  day  and  yet  Mr.  Gladstone 
wore  only  a  very  light  cape,  reaching  scarcely  to 
his  knees. 

"  I  need  nothing  more  on  me,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
must  have  my  legs  free." 

After  luncheon  he  took  me  into  his  library,  a 
wonderful  place,  a  treasure-house  in  itself,  a 
bookman's  palace.  The  books  had  been  arranged 
and  catalogued  according  to  a  system  of  his  own 
invention.  He  showed  many  presents  of  Ameri- 
can books  and  pictures  sent  to  him. 

"  Outside  of  America  there  is  no  one  who  is 
bound  to  love  it  more  than  I  do,"  he  said,  "  you 
see,  I  am  almost  surrounded  by  the  evidences  of 
American  kindnesses."  He  gave  me  some  books 
and  pamphlets  about  himself,  and  his  own  Greek 
translation  of  "Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul."  Mrs. 
Gladstone  had  been  obliged  to  leave  before  we 
returned  from  our  walk.  Mr.  Gladstone  took  me 
into  a  room,  however,  and  showed  me  a  beautiful 
sculptured  portrait  of  her,  made  when  she  was 
twenty-two. 

"  She  is  only  two  years  younger  than  I  am,  but 
in  complete  health  and  vigour,"  he  said  proudly. 

He  came  out  upon  the  steps  to  bid  me  good-bye. 
Bareheaded,  his  white  hair  flowing  in  the  wind, 
he  stood  in  the  cold  and  I  begged  him  to  go  in. 


MY  HOME-COMING  241 

I  expressed  a  wish  that  he  might  come  to  America. 

"  I  am  too  old  now,"  he  said,  wistfully,  I  thought. 

44  Is  it  the  Atlantic  you  object  to  ?  "   I  asked. 

44  Oh  !  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  ocean,"  he  said, 
as  though  there  were  perhaps  some  other  reason. 

44  Tell  your  country  I  watch  every  turn  of  its 
history  with  a  heart  of  innermost  admiration,"  he 
called  after  me.  I  carried  Gladstone's  message 
at  once,  going  straight  from  Hawarden  to  America, 
as  I  had  intended  when  leaving  London. 

I  was  prepared  for  a  reception  in  Brooklyn  on 
my  return,  but  I  never  dreamed  it  would  be  the 
ovation  it  was.  It  becomes  difficult  to  write  of  these 
personal  courtesies,  as  I  find  them  increasing  in 
the  progress  of  my  life  from  now  on.  I  trust  the 
casual  reader  will  not  construe  anything  in  these 
pages  into  a  boastful  desire  to  spread  myself  in 
too  large  letters  in  print. 

When  I  entered  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
Armoury  on  the  evening  of  February  7,  1890,  it 
was  packed  from  top  to  floor.  It  was  a  large 
building  with  its  three  acres  of  drill  floor  and  its 
half  mile  of  galleries.  There  were  over  seven 
thousand  people  there,  so  the  newspapers  esti- 
mated. Against  the  east  wall  was  the  speaker's 
platform,  and  over  it  in  big  letters  of  fire  burned 
the  word  44  Welcome." 

On  the  stage,  when  I  arrived  at  eight  o'clock, 
were  Mayor  Chapin,  Colonel  Austen,  General 
Alfred  C.  Barnes,  the  Rev.  J.  Benson  Hamilton, 
Judge  Clement,  Mr.  Andrew  McLean,  the  Rev. 
Leon  Harrison,  ex-Mayor  Whitney,  the  Hon. 
David  A.  Boody,  U.S.  Marshal  Stafford,  Judge 
Courtney,  Postmaster  Hendrix,  John  Y.  Culver, 
Mark  D.  Wilber,  Commissioner  George  V.  Brower, 
the  Rev.  E.  P.  Terhune,  General  Horatio  C.  King, 
William  E.  Robinson  and  several  others. 

The  Trustees  of  the  Tabernacle,  like  a  guard  of 


242    THE   FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

honour,  came  in  with  me,  and  as  we  made  our  way 
through  the  crowds  to  the  stage,  the  long-continued 
cheering  and  applause  were  deafening.  The  band, 
assisted  by  the  cornetist,  Peter  Ali,  played 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home."  For  a  few  minutes  I  was 
very  busy  shaking  hands. 

The  most  inspiring  moment  of  these  prelimi- 
naries was  the  approach  of  the  most  distinguished 
man  in  that  vast  assembly,  General  William  T. 
Sherman.  He  marched  to  the  platform  under 
military  escort,  while  the  band  played  "  Marching 
through  Georgia."  Everyone  stood  up  in  def- 
erence to  the  old  warrior,  handkerchiefs  were 
waved,  hats  flew  up  in  the  air,  everyone  was  so 
proud  of  him,  so  pleased  to  see  him!  Mayor 
Chapin  introduced  the  General,  and  as  he  stood 
patiently  waiting  for  the  audience  to  regain  its 
self-control,  the  band  played  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 
Then  in  the  presence  of  that  great  crowd  he  gave 
me  a  soldier's  welcome.  I  remember  one  sentence 
uttered  by  Sherman  that  night  that  revealed  the 
character  of  the  great  fighter  when  he  said, 
"  The  same  God  that  appeared  at  Nazareth  is 
here  to-night." 

But  nothing  on  that  auspicious  evening  was  so 
great  to  me  as  when  Sherman  spoke  what  he 
described  as  the  soldier's  welcome  : 

"How  are  you,  old  fellow,  glad  to  see  you!  "he  said. 

The  building  of  the  new  Tabernacle,  my  third 
effort  to  establish  an  independent  church  in 
Brooklyn,  went  on  rapidly.  We  were  planning 
then  to  open  it  in  September,  1891.  The  church 
building  alone  was  to  cost  $150,000.  Its  archi- 
tectural beauty  was  in  accord  with  the  elegance 
of  its  fashionable  neighbourhood  on  "  The  Hill," 
as  that  residential  part  of  Brooklyn  was  always 
described. 

"  The    Hill  "    was    unique.     When    people    in 


-SLEEPY   HOLLOW"  243 

Brooklyn  became  tired  of  the  rush  and  bustle  of 
life  they  returned  to  Clinton  Avenue.  It  was 
an  idyllic  village  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  The 
front  yards  were  as  large  as  farms.  New  Yorkers 
described  this  locality  as  "  Sleepy  Hollow."  On 
this  account,  during  my  absence,  there  had 
developed  in  the  neighbourhood  some  opposition 
to  the  building  of  the  new  Tabernacle  there. 
Some  of  the  residents  were  afraid  it  would  disturb 
the  quiet  of  the  neighbourhood.  They  opposed  it 
as  they  would  a  base  ball  park,  or  a  circus.  They 
were  afraid  the  organ  would  annoy  the  sparrows. 
The  opposition  went  so  far  that  a  subscription 
paper  was  passed  around  to  induce  us  to  go  away. 
As  much  as  $15,000  was  raised  to  persuade  us. 
These  objections,  however,  were  confined  to  a  few 
people,  the  majority  realising  the  adornment 
the  new  church  would  be  to  the  neighbourhood. 
When  I  returned  I  found  that  this  opposing 
sentiment  had  described  us  as  "  the  Tabernacle 
Rabble."  I  was  in  splendid  health  and  spirits 
however,  and  refused  to  be  downcast. 

During  my  absence  our  pews  had  been  rented, 
realising  $18,000.  The  largest  portion  of  these 
pews  were  rented  by  letter,  and  the  balance  at  a 
public  meeting  held  in  Temple  Israel.  The  second 
gallery  of  the  church  was  free.  The  highest  price 
paid  in  the  rental  for  one  pew  for  a  year  was  $75, 
the  lowest  was  $20.  In  the  interval,  pending  the 
completion  of  the  church,  pew  holders  were  given 
tickets  for  reserved  seats  in  the  Academy  of 
Music,  where  our  Sunday  services  were  held. 
There  were  1,500  free  seats  in  the  second  gallery 
of  the  new  Tabernacle. 

It  was  a  great  joy  to  find  that  the  enterprise  I 
had  inaugurated  before  sailing  for  the  Holy 
Land  had  made  such  good  progress.  But  we 
were  always  fortunate. 


244    THE   FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

I  recall  that  my  congregation  was  surprised 
one  morning  to  learn  that  Emma  Abbott,  the 
beautiful  American  singer,  had  left  a  bequest  of 
§5,000  to  the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle.  I  was  not 
surprised.  I  had  received  a  private  note  from  her 
once  expressing  her  kindly  feeling  toward  our 
Church  and  promising,  in  the  event  of  her  decease, 
to  leave  some  remembrance  to  us.  She  always 
had  a  presentiment  that  her  life  was  to  be  short, 
and  this  always  had  a  very  depressing  effect  upon 
her.  Her  grief  for  her  husband's  death  hastened 
her  own.  She  loved  him  with  all  her  heart.  She 
was  a  good  woman.  Mr.  Beecher  was  a  kind  and 
loyal  friend  to  her  in  her  obscurer  days.  In  those 
days  Mr.  Beecher  brought  her  over  from  New 
York  and  put  her  in  care  of  a  Mrs.  Bird  in 
Brooklyn.  Until  she  went  abroad  she  was  helped 
in  her  musical  education  by  these  friends.  She 
attended  Mr.  Beecher's  prayer  meetings  regularly. 
Everyone  who  met  her  felt  that  she  was  a  noble- 
hearted  woman  of  pure  character  and  sweet  soul. 

On  February  9, 1890, 1  preached  my  first  sermon 
since  my  return  from  the  Holy  Land  in  the 
Academy  of  Music.  It  was  expected  that  I  would 
preach  about  the  country  of  sacred  memories 
that  I  had  visited,  but  I  was  impressed  with  what 
I  had  found  on  my  return  in  religious  history  of 
a  more  modern  purpose.  They  had  been  fixing 
up  the  creeds  while  I  was  abroad,  tracing  the 
footsteps  of  divine  law,  and  I  felt  the  importance 
of  this  fact.  So  I  chose  the  text  in  Joshua  vi.  23, 
"  And  the  young  men  that  were  spies  went  in 
and  brought  out  Rahab,  and  her  father  and  her 
mother,  and  her  brethren,  and  all  that  she  had." 

I  did  not  read  the  newspapers  while  I  was  away 
so  I  was  not  familiar  with  all  the  discussion.  I 
understood,  however,  that  they  were  revising  the 
creed.    You  might  as  well  try  to  patch  up  your 


THE  CORNER  STONE  245 

grandfather's^  overcoat.  It  will^be  much  better 
to  get  a  new  one.  The  recent  sessions  of  the 
Presbytery  had  been  divided  into  two  parties.  One 
was  in  favour  of  patching  up  the  old  overcoat, 
the  other  in  favour  of  a  new  one.  Dr.  Briggs  had 
pointed  out  the  torn  places — at  least  five  of  them. 
He  had  revealed  it,  shabby  and  somewhat  thread- 
bare. Presbyterians  had  practically  discarded 
the  garment.  Why  should  they  want  to  flaunt 
any  of  its  shreds  ?  So  I  agreed  with  Dr.  Briggs, 
that  we  had  better  get  a  new  one. 

The  laying  of  the  corner  stone  of  the  new 
Tabernacle  took  place  on  the  afternoon  of 
February  11,  1890.  It  was  a  modest  ceremony 
because  it  was  considered  wise  to  defer  the 
festivities  for  the  dedication  services  that  were 
to  occur  in  the  church  itself  in  the  spring.  The 
two  tin  boxes  placed  in  the  corner  stone  contained 
the  records  of  the  church  organisation  from  1854 
to  1873,  a  copy  of  the  Bible,  coins  of  1873,  news- 
paper accounts  of  the  dedication  of  the  old 
Tabernacle,  copies  of  the  Brooklyn  and  New  York 
newspapers,  photographs  of  the  trustees,  a  25- 
cent  gold  piece  from  the  Philadelphia  mint  with 
the  Lord's  Prayer  engraved  on  one  side,  drawing 
and  plans  of  the  new  Tabernacle,  and  some 
Colonial  money  dated  1759,  1771,  1773,  1774. 
During  my  trip  in  the  Holy  Land  I  had  secured 
two  stones,  one  from  Mount  Calvary  and  one 
from  Mount  Sinai,  which  were  to  be  placed  in  the 
Tabernacle  later. 

The  "  Tabernacle  Rabble,"  as  the  Philistines 
of  Clinton  Avenue  called  us,  continued  to  meet 
in  the  Academy  of  Music  with  renewed  vigour. 
My  own  duties  became  more  exacting  because 
of  the  additional  work  I  had  undertaken,  of  an 
editorial  nature,  on  two  periodicals. 

Of  course  my  critics  were  always  with   me. 


246    THE  FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

What  man  or  thing  on  earth  is  without  these 
stimulants  of  one's  energy.  They  were  fair  and 
unfair.  I  did  not  care  so  much  for  my  serious 
critics  as  my  humorous  ones.  Solemnity  when 
sustained  by  malice  or  bigotry  is  a  bore.  Some 
call  it  hypocrisy,  but  that  is  too  clever  for  the 
tiresome  critic.  Frequently,  in  my  scrap  book,  I 
kept  the  funny  comments  about  myself. 

Here  is  one  from  the  "  Chicago  American," 
published  in  1890  :— 

When  Talmage  the  terrible  shouts  his  "  God-speed  " 

To  illit'rate  (and  worse)  immigration, 
Who  knows  but  his  far-seeing  mind  feels  a  need 

Of  recruits  for  his  mix'd  congregation  ? 
And  when  he,  self-made  gateman  of  Heaven,  says  he's  glad 

To  rake  in,  on  his  free  invitation, 
The  fit  and  the  unfit,  the  good  and  the  bad, 

Put  it  down  to  his  tall-'mag-ination. — Pan. 

My  critics  were  particularly  wrought  up  again 
on  my  return  from  Palestine  over  my  finances. 
What  a  crime  it  was,  they  said,  for  a  minister  to  be 
a  millionaire  !  Had  I  really  been  one  how  much 
more  I  could  have  helped  some  of  them  along. 
Finally  the  subject  became  most  wearisome,  and 
I  gave  out  some  actual  facts.  From  this  data  it 
was  revealed  that  I  was  worth  about  $200,000,  con- 
siderably short  of  one  million.  In  actual  cash  it  was 
finally  declared  that  I  was  only  worth  $100,000. 
My  house  in  Brooklyn,  which  I  bought  shortly 
after  my  pastorate  began  there,  cost  $35,000.  I 
paid  $5,000  cash,  and  obtained  easy  terms  on  a 
mortgage  for  the  balance.  It  was  worth  $60,000 
in  1890.  My  country  residence  at  East  Hampton 
was  estimated  to  be  worth  $20,000.  I  owned  a 
few  lots  on  the  old  Coney  Island  road.  My  in- 
vestments of  any  surplus  funds  I  had  were  in 
5  per  cent,  mortgages.    I  had  as  much  as  $80,000 


WHAT  HAPPENED  247 

invested  in  this  way  since  I  had  begun  these 
operations  in  1882.  Most  of  the  mortgages  were 
on  private  residences.  I  mention  these  facts 
that  there  may  be  no  jealous  feeling  against  me 
among  other  millionaires.  Because  of  my  reputa- 
tion for  wealth  I  was  sometimes  included  among 
New  York's  fashionable  clergymen.  I  deny  that 
I  was  ever  any  such  thing,  and  I  almost  believe 
such  a  thing  never  was,  but  I  find,  in  my  scrap- 
book,  a  contemporaneous  list  of  them. 

Dr.  Morgan  Dix,  of  Trinity  Church,  with  a 
salary  of  $15,000,  heads  the  list,  Dr.  Brown  of  St. 
Thomas'  Church,  received  the  same  amount ;  so 
did  Dr.  Huntington  of  Grace  Church,  and  Dr. 
Greer  of  St.  Bartholomew's.  The  Bishop  of  the 
diocese  received  no  more.  Dr.  Rainsford  of  St. 
George's  Church  received  $10,000,  and  like  Dr. 
Greer,  possessing  a  private  fortune,  he  turned 
his  salary  over  to  the  church.  The  clergymen 
of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  churches  were  not  so 
rich.  The  Bishop  of  New  York  received  only 
$5,000.  The  pastor  of  St.  Paul's,  on  Fourth 
Avenue,  received  the  same  amount,  so  did  the 
pastor  of  the  Madison  Avenue  Church. 

The  Presbyterian  pulpits  were  filled  with  some 
of  the  ablest  preachers  in  New  York.  Dr.  John 
Hall  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Church  received  the 
salary  of  $30,000,  Dr.  Paxton  $10,000,  Dr.  Park- 
hurst  and  Dr.  C.  C.  Thompson  $8,000  respec- 
tively. Dr.  Robert  Collyer  of  the  Park  Avenue 
Unitarian  Church,  received  $10,000,  and  Dr. 
William  M.  Taylor  of  the  Broadway  Tabernacle 
the  same  amount. 

I  was  included  among  these  "  men  of  fashion," 
much  to  my  surprise.  This  fact,  forced  upon  me 
by  contemporary  opinion,  did  not  have  anything 
to  do  with  what  happened  in  the  spring  of  1891, 
though  it  was  applied  in  that  way.     My  congre- 


248    THE  FOURTEENTH  MILESTONE 

gation  were  not  told  about  it  until  it  was  too  late 
to  interfere.  This  I  thought  wise  because  there 
might  have  been  some  opposition  to  my  course. 
I  kept  it  a  secret  because  it  was  not  a  matter  I 
could  discuss  with  any  dignity.  Then,  too,  I 
realised  that  it  was  going  to  affect  the  entire 
brotherhood  of  newspaper  artists,  especially  the 
cartoonists.  I  shuddered  when  I  thought  of  the 
embarrassment  this  act  of  mine  would  cause  the 
country  editor  with  only  one  Talmage  woodcut 
of  many  years  in  his  art  department.  So  I  did 
it  quietly,  without  consultation. 

In  the  spring  of  1891  I  shaved  my  whiskers. 


THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

1891—1892 

On  April  26,  1891,  the  new  Tabernacle  was 
opened.  There  were  three  dedication  services 
and  thousands  of  people  came.  I  was  fifty-nine 
years  of  age.  Up  to  this  time  everything  had  been 
extraordinary  in  its  conflict,  its  warnings.  I 
found  myself,  after  over  thirty  years  of  service 
to  the  Gospel,  pastor  of  the  biggest  Protestant 
church  in  the  world.  It  seems  to  me  there  were 
more  men  of  indomitable  success  during  my  career 
in  America  than  at  any  other  time.  There  were 
so  many  self-made  men,  so  many  who  compelled 
the  world  to  listen,  and  feel  and  do  as  they  be- 
lieved— men  of  remarkable  energy,  of  prophetic 
genius. 

Everywhere  in  England  I  had  been  asked  about 
Cyrus  W.  Field.  He  was  the  hero  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  In  his  days  of  sickness  and 
trouble  the  world  remembered  him.  Of  all  the 
population  of  the  earth  he  was  the  one  man  who 
believed  that  a  wire  could  be  strung  across  the 
Atlantic.  It  took  him  twelve  years  of  incessant 
toil  and  fifty  voyages  across  the  Atlantic.  I 
remember  well,  in  1857,  when  the  cable  broke, 
how  everyone  joined  in  the  great  chorus  of  "I 
told  you  so."  There  was  a  great  jubilee  in  that 
choral   society   of  wise   know-nothings.     Thirty 

249 


250      THE   FIFTEENTH  MILESTONE 

times  the  grapnel  searched  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
and  finally  caught  the  broken  cable,  and  the  pluck 
and  ingenuity  of  Cyrus  W.  Field  was  celebrated. 
Ocean  cablegrams  had  ceased  to  be  a  curiosity, 
but  some  of  us  remember  the  day  when  they  were. 
I  kept  a  memorandum  of  the  two  first  messages 
across  the  Atlantic  that  passed  between  Queen 
Victoria  and  President  Buchanan  in  the  summer 
of  1858. 

From  England,  in  the  Queen's  name,  came  this  : 
"  To    the    President    of    the    United    States, 
Washington — 

"  The  Queen  desires  to  congratulate  the  Presi- 
dent upon  the  successful  completion  of  this  great 
international  work,  in  which  the  Queen  has  taken 
the  deepest  interest.  The  Queen  is  convinced  that 
the  President  will  join  with  her  in  fervently 
hoping  that  the  electric  cable  which  now  connects 
Great  Britain  with  the  United  States  will  prove 
an  additional  link  between  the  nations  whose 
friendship  is  founded  upon  their  common  interest 
and  reciprocal  esteem.  The  Queen  has  much 
pleasure  in  thus  communicating  with  the  Presi- 
dent and  renewing  to  him  her  wishes  for  the 
prosperity  of  the  United  States." 

The  President's  answering  cable  was  as  follows  : 
44  To   Her  Majesty   Victoria,   Queen  of  Great 
Britain — 

44  The  President  cordially  reciprocates  the  con- 
gratulations of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  on  the 
success  of  the  great  international  enterprise 
accomplished  by  the  science,  skill,  and  indomitable 
energy  of  the  two  countries.  It  is  a  triumph  more 
glorious  than  was  ever  won  by  any  conquest  on 
the  field  of  battle.  May  the  Atlantic  telegraph, 
under  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  prove  to  be  a  bond 
of  perpetual  peace  and  friendship  between  the 
kindred  nations  and  an  instrument  designed  by 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER      251 

Divine  Providence  to  diffuse  religion,  civilisation, 
liberty  and  law  throughout  the  world.  In  this 
view  will  not  all  nations  of  Christendom  spon- 
taneously unite  in  the  declaration  that  it  shall  be 
forever  neutral,  and  that  its  communications 
shall  be  held  sacred  in  passing  to  their  destination, 
even  in  the  midst  of  hostilities. 

"  James  Buchanan." 

It  is  interesting  to  compare  the  elemental 
quality,  the  inner  character  of  these  national 
flashes  of  feeling,  that  came  so  comparatively 
soon  after  the  days  of  the  revolution  in  America. 
It  was  a  sort  of  prose  poetry  of  the  new  century. 
This  recollection  came  back  to  me,  on  my  return 
from  Europe,  upon  the  opening  of  the  new 
Tabernacle,  a  symbol  of  the  eternal  human  pro- 
gress of  the  world.  Materially  and  spiritually  we 
were  striving  ahead,  men  of  affairs,  men  of  reli- 
gion, philosophers,  scientists,  and  poets. 

I  was  present  in  1891  at  the  celebration  of 
Whittier's  eighty-fourth  birthday.  He  was  on 
the  bright  side  of  eighty  then.  The  schools 
celebrated  the  day,  so  should  the  churches  have 
done,  for  he  was  a  Christian  poet. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier  was  a  Quaker.  That 
means  that  he  was  a  genial,  kind,  good  man — a 
simple  man.  I  spent  an  afternoon  with  him  once 
in  a  barn.  We  were  summering  in  the  mountains 
near  by.  We  found  ourselves  in  the  barn,  where 
we  stretched  out  on  the  hay.  The  world  had  not 
spoiled  the  simplicity  of  his  nature.  It  was  an 
afternoon  of  pastoral  peace,  with  one  who  had 
written  himself  into  the  heart  of  a  nation.  How 
much  I  learned  from  that  man's  childlikeness  and 
simplicity  ! 

If  he  had  lived  to  be  a  hundred  he  would  still 
have  remained  young.  The  long  flight  of  years  had 


252       THE  FIFTEENTH  MILESTONE 

not  tired  his  spirit,  for  wherever  the  English 
language  is  spoken  he  will  always  live.  He  was 
born  in  Christmas  week,  a  spirit  in  human  shape, 
come  to  earth  to  keep  it  forever  young.  He  was  the 
bell-ringer  of  all  youthful  ages.  And  yet  he  remem- 
bered also  those  who  for  any  reason  could  not 
join  in  the  merriment  of  the  holidays.  To  those 
I  recommend  Whittier's  poem,  in  which  he 
celebrates  the  rescue  of  two  Quakers  who  had 
been  fined  £10  for  attending  church  instead  of 
going  to  a  Quaker  Meeting  House,  and  not  being 
able  to  pay  the  fine  were  first  imprisoned  and 
then  sold  as  slaves,  but  no  ship  master  consenting 
to  carry  them  into  slavery  they  were  liberated. 
The  closing  stanza  of  this  poem  is  worth  remem- 
bering : — 

"  Now,  let  the  humble  ones  arise, 

The  poor  in  heart  be  glad, 
And  let  the  mourning  ones  again 

With  robes  of  praise  be  clad  ; 
For  He  who  cooled  the  furnace, 

And  smoothed  the  stormy  wave, 
And  turned  the  Chaldean  lions, 

Is  mighty  still  to  save." 

The  new  Tabernacle  more  than  met  our  ex- 
pectations. From  the  day  we  opened  it,  it  was  a 
great  blessing.  It  seated  6,000  persons,  and  when 
crowded  held  7,000.  There  was  still  some  debt 
on  the  building,  for  the  entire  enterprise  had  cost 
us  about  §400,000.  There  were  regrets  expressed 
that  we  did  not  follow  the  elaborate  custom  of 
some  fashionable  churches  in  these  days  and 
introduce  into  our  services  operatic  music.  I 
preferred  the  simple  form  of  sacred  music — -a 
cornet  and  organ.  Everybody  should  get  his 
call  from  God,  and  do  his  work  in  his  own  way. 
I  never  had  any  sympathy  with  dogmatics.  There 
is  no  church  on  earth  in  which  there  is  more 


THE  THIRD  BROOKLYN  TABERNACLE. 


WILLIAM  E.  ROBINSON  253 

freedom  of  utterance  than  in  the  Presbyterian 
church. 

We  were  in  the  midst  of  a  religious  conflict  on 
many  sacred  questions  in  1892.  There  came 
upon  us  a  plague  called  Higher  Criticism.  My 
idea  of  it  was  that  Higher  Criticism  meant  lower 
religion.  The  Bible  seemed  to  me  entirely  satis- 
factory. The  chief  hindrance  to  the  Gospel  was 
this  everlasting  picking  at  the  Bible  by  people 
who  pretended  tojbe  its  friends,  but  who  themselves 
had  never  been  converted.  The  Higher  Criticism 
was  only  a  flurry.  The  world  started  as  a  garden 
and  it  will  close  as  a  garden.  That  there  may  be 
no  false  impression  of  the  sublime  destiny  of  the 
world  as  I  see  it,  let  me  add  that  it  is  not  a  garden 
of  idleness  and  pleasure,  but  a  vineyard  in  which 
all  must  labour  from  early  morning  till  the  glory 
of  sundown  wraps  us  in  its  revival  robes  of  golden 
splendour. 

What  a  changing,  hurrying  world  of  desperate 
means  it  is.  What  a  mirage  of  towering  ambi- 
tion is  the  whole  of  life  !  I  have  so  often  wondered 
why  men,  great  men  of  heart  and  brain,  should 
ever  die  out,  though  they  pass  on  to  live  forever 
under  brighter  skies. 

In  January,  1892,  Congressman  William  E. 
Robinson  was  buried  from  our  church,  and  in 
February  of  the  same  month  Spurgeon  died  in 
England.  Though  men  may  live  at  swords' 
points  with  each  other  they  die  in  peace.  This 
last  forgetfulness  is  some  of  the  beautiful 
moss  that  grows  on  the  ruins  of  poor  human 
nature. 

Congressman  Robinson  was  among  the  gifted 
men  of  his  time.  His  friends  were  giants,  his 
work  was  constructive,  his  pen  an  instrument  of 
literary  force.  He  landed  in  America  with  less 
than   a   sovereign   in   his   pocket,    and   achieved 


254      THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

prominence  in  national  and  State  affairs.     I  knew 
him  well  and  respected  him. 

There  is  an  affinity  of  souls  on  earth  and  doubt- 
less in  heaven.  We  seek  those  who  are  our 
kindred  souls  when  we  reach  there.  In  this 
respect  I  always  feel  a  sense  of  gratitude,  of 
cheerfulness  for  those  who  have  passed  on.  My 
old  friend,  Charles  H.  Spurgeon,  in  February, 
1892,  made  his  last  journey  ;  and  I  am  sure  that 
the  first  whom  he  picked  out  in  heaven  were  the 
souls  of  Jonathan  Edwards  and  John  Calvin — 
two  men  of  tremendous  evangelism.  I  first  met 
Spurgeon  in  London  in  1872. 

"  I  read  your  sermons,"  I  said  to  him  first. 

"  Everybody  reads  yours,"  he  replied. 

Spurgeon  made  a  long  battle  against  disease  ; 
the  last  few  months  in  agony.  His  name  is  on 
the  honour  roll  of  the  world's  history,  but  for 
many  years  he  was  caricatured  and  assailed.  He 
kept  a  scrap-book  of  the  printed  blasphemy 
against  him.  The  first  picture  I  ever  saw  of  him 
represented  him  as  sliding  down  the  railing  of  his 
pulpit  in  the  presence  of  his  congregation,  to  show 
how  easy  it  was  to  go  to  hell,  and  then  climbing 
up  on  the  opposite  railing  to  show  how  difficult  it 
was  to  get  to  heaven.  Most  people  at  the  time 
actually  believed  that  he  had  done  this. 

In  this  same  month  Dr.  Mackenzie,  the  famous 
physician,  died,  and  my  old  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Hanna  of  Belfast,  the  leading  Protestant  minister 
of  Ireland.  Out  of  the  darkness  into  the  light; 
out  of  the  struggle  into  victory  ;  out  of  earth 
into  Heaven  ! 

There  was  always  mercy  on  earth,  however,  for 
those  who  remained.  Mercy  !  The  biggest  word 
in  the  human  language!  I  remember  how  it  im- 
pressed me,  when,  at  the  invitation  of  Dr.  Leslie 
Keeley,  the  inventor  of  the  "  Gold  Cure  "   for 


THE   TARIFF   QUESTION  255 

drunkenness,  I  visited  his  institution  at  Dwight, 
111.  It  was  a  new  thing  then  and  a  most  merciful 
miracle  of  the  age.  It  settled  no  question, 
perhaps,  but  intensified  the  blessings  of  reformed 
thought. 

There  were  questions  that  could  not  be  solved, 
however,  questions  of  industrial  moment  that  we 
almost  despaired  of.  The  tariff  was  one  of  them. 
I  felt  convinced  that  the  tariff  question  would 
never  be  settled.  The  grandchildren  of  every 
generation  will  always  be  discussing  it,  and  thresh 
out  the  same  old  straw  which  the  Democrats  and 
Republicans  were  discussing  before  them.  When 
I  was  a  boy  only  eight  years  old  the  tariff  was 
discussed  just  as  warmly  as  it  will  ever  be.  Like 
my  friend  Henry  Watterson,  of  Kentucky,  I  was 
a  Free  Trader.  Politics  were  so  mixed  up  it  was 
difficult  to  see  ahead.  Cleveland  was  after  Hill 
and  Hill  was  after  Cleveland ;  that  alone  was  clear 
to  everybody. 

For  my  own  satisfaction,  in  the  spring  of  1892, 
I  went  to  see  what  Washington  was  really  doing, 
thinking,  living.  It  had  improved  morally  and 
politically,  its  streets  were  still  the  trail  of  the 
mighty.     A  great  change  had  taken  place  there. 

A  higher  type  of  men  had  taken  possession  of 
our  national  halls.  Duelling,  once  common,  was 
entirely  abolished,  and  a  Senator  who  would 
challenge  a  fellow-member  to  fight  would  make 
himself  a  laughing-stock.  No  more  clubbing  of 
Senators  on  account  of  opposite  opinions  !  Mr. 
Covode  of  Pennsylvania,  no  longer  brandished  a 
weapon  over  the  head  of  Mr.  Barksdale  of  Missis- 
sippi. Grow  and  Keitt  no  more  took  each  other  by 
the  throat.  Griswold  no  more  pounded  Lyon, 
Lyon  snatching  the  tongs  and  striking  back  until 
the  two  members  in  a  scuffle  rolled  on  the  floor  of 
the  great  American  Congress.  One  of  the  Senators 


256      THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

of  twenty-five  years  ago  died  in  Flatbush  Hospital, 
idiotic  from  his  dissipations.  One  member  of 
Congress  I  saw  years  ago  seated  drunk  on  the 
curbstone  in  Philadelphia,  his  wife  trying  to  coax 
him  home.  A  Senator  from  New  York  many 
years  ago  on  a  cold  day  was  picked  out  of  the 
Potomac,  into  which  he  had  dropped  through  his 
intoxication,  the  only  time  that  he  ever  came  so 
near  losing  his  life  by  too  much  cold  water.  Talk 
not  about  the  good  old  days,  for  the  new  days  in 
Washington  were  far  better.  There  was  John 
Sherman  of  the  Senate,  a  moral,  high-minded, 
patriotic  and  talented  man.  I  said  to  him  as  I 
looked  up  into  his  face :  "  How  tall  are  you  ?  "  and 
his  answer  was,  "  Six  feet  one  inch  and  a  half;  " 
and  I  thought  to  myself  "  You  are  a  tall  man 
every  way,  with  mental  stature  over-towering 
like  the  physical."  There  was  Senator  Daniel  of 
Virginia,  magnetic  to  the  last  degree,  and  when 
he  spoke  all  were  thrilled  while  they  listened. 
Fifteen  years  ago,  at  Lynchburg,  Va.,  I  said  to 
him  :  "  The  next  time  I  see  you,  I  will  see  you 
in  the  United  States  Senate."  "  No,  no,"  he 
replied,  "  I  am  not  on  the  winning  side.  I  am 
too  positive  in  my  opinions."  I  greeted  him  amid 
the  marble  walls  of  the  Senate  with  the  words 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  "  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I 
remember  your  prophecy."  There  also  were 
Senators  Colquitt  and  Gordon  of  Georgia,  at 
home  whether  in  secular  or  religious  assemblages, 
pronounced  Christian  gentlemen,  and  both  of 
them  tremendous  in  utterance.  There  was  Senator 
Carey  of  Wyoming,  who  was  a  boy  in  my  church 
debating  society  at  Philadelphia,  his  speech  at 
eighteen  years  demonstrating  that  nothing  in 
the  way  of  grand  achievement  would  be  impossi- 
ble. There  was  Senator  Manderson  of  Nebraska, 
his  father  and  mother  among  my  chief  supporters 


BENJAMIN  HARRISON  257 

in  Philadelphia,  the  Senator  walking  about  as 
though  he  cared  nothing  about  the  bullets  which  he 
had  carried  ever  since  the  war,  of  which  he  was  one 
of  the  heroes.  Brooklyn  was  proud  of  her  Con- 
gressmen. I  heard  our  representative,  Mr.  Coombs, 
speak,  and  whether  his  hearers  agreed  or  dis- 
agreed with  his  sentiments  on  the  tariff  question, 
all  realised  that  he  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about,  and  his  easy  delivery  and  point-blank 
manner  of  statement  were  impressive.  So,  also, 
at  the  White  House,  whether  people  liked  the 
Administration  or  disliked  it,  all  reasonable 
persons  agreed  that  good  morals  presided  over 
the  nation,  and  that  well-worn  jest  about  the 
big  hat  of  the  grandfather,  President  William 
Henry  Harrison,  being  too  ample  for  the  grand- 
son, President  Benjamin  Harrison,  was  a  witticism 
that  would  soon  be  folded  up  and  put  out  of  sight. 
Anybody  who  had  carefully  read  the  120  ad- 
dresses delivered  by  President  Benjamin  Harrison 
on  his  tour  across  the  continent  knew  that  he  had 
three  times  the  brain  ever  shown  by  his  grand- 
father. Great  men,  I  noticed  at  Washington, 
were  great  only  a  little  while.  The  men  I  saw 
there  in  high  places  fifteen  years  ago  had  nearly 
all  gone.  One  venerable  man,  seated  in  the 
Senate  near  the  Vice-President's  chair,  had  been 
there  since  he  was  introduced  as  a  page  at  10 
years  of  age  by  Daniel  Webster.  But  a  few  years 
change  the  most  of  the  occupants  of  high  positions. 
How  rapidly  the  wheel  turns.  Call  the  roll  of 
Jefferson's  Cabinet  ?  Dead  !  Call  the  roll  of 
Madison's  Cabinet  ?  Dead  !  Call  the  roll  of 
Monroe's  Cabinet  ?  Dead  !  Call  the  roll  of  Pierce's 
Cabinet  ?  Dead  !  Call  the  roll  of  Abraham 
Lincoln's  Cabinet  ?  Dead  !  The  Congressional 
burying  ground  in  the  city  of  Washington  had 
then  170  cenotaphs  raised  in  honour  of  members. 


258       THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

While  I  was  in  Chicago,  in  the  spring  of  1892, 
there  came  about  an  almost  national  discussion 
as  to  whether  the  World's  Fair  should  be  kept 
open  on  Sunday.  Nearly  all  the  ministers  fore- 
saw empty  churches  if  the  fair  were  kept  open. 

In  spite  of  the  personal  malice  against  me  of 
one  of  the  great  editors  of  New  York,  the  people 
did  not  seem  to  lose  their  confidence  in  the  Chris- 
tian spirit.  Both  Dr.  Parkhurst  and  myself  were 
the  targets  of  this  brilliant  man's  sarcasm  and 
satire  at  this  time,  but  neither  of  us  were  demoral- 
ised or  injured  in  the  course  of  our  separate  ways 
of  duty. 

In  the  summer  of  1892  the  working  plans  of 
what  the  newspapers  generously  called  my 
vacation  took  me  to  Europe  on  a  tour  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  including  a  visit  to  Russia, 
to  await  the  arrival  of  a  ship -load  of  food  sent 
by  the  religious  weekly  of  which  I  was  editor. 
Some  criticism  was  made  of  the  way  I  worked 
instead  of  rested  in  vacation  time. 

Someone  asked  me  if  I  believed  in  dreams.  I 
said,  no  ;  I  believed  in  sleep,  but  not  in  dreams. 
The  Lord,  in  olden  times,  revealed  Himself  in 
dreams,  but  I  do  not  think  He  does  so  often  now. 
When  I  was  at  school  we  parsed  from  "  Young's 
Night  Thoughts,"  but  I  had  no  very  pleasant 
memories  of  that  book.  I  had  noticed  that 
dreamers  are  often  the  prey  of  consumption. 
It  seems  to  have  a  fondness  for  exquisite  natures 
— dreamy,  spiritual,  a  foe  [of  the  finest  part  of 
the  human  family.  There  was  Henry  Kirke 
White,  the  author  of  that  famous  hymn,  "  When 
Marshalled  on  the  Nightly  Plains,"  who,  dying 
of  consumption,  wrote  it  with  two  feet  in  the 
grave,  and  recited  it  with  power  when  he  could 
not  move  from  his  chair. 

We  sailed  on  the  "  New  York,"  June  15,  1892, 


A  PREACHING  TOUR  IN  ENGLAND  259 

for  Europe.  This  preaching  tour  in  England  was 
urged  upon  me  by  ties  of  friendship,  made  years 
before,  by  the  increased  audiences  I  had  already 
gained  through  my  public  sermons,  and  of  my 
own  hearty  desire  to  see  them  all  face  to  face. 
My  first  sermon  in  London  was  given  on  June  25, 
1892,  in  the  City  Temple,  by  invitation  of  that 
great  English  preacher,  Dr.  Joseph  Parker.  When 
my  sermon  was  over,  Dr.  Parker  said  to  his  con- 
gregation : — 

"  I  thank  God  for  Dr.  Talmage's  life  and 
ministry,  and  I  despise  the  man  who  cannot 
appreciate  his  services  to  Christianity.  May  he 
preach  in  this  pulpit  again!" 

On  leaving  his  church  I  was  obliged  to  address 
the  crowd  outside  from  my  carriage.  Nothing 
can  be  so  gratifying  to  a  preacher  as  the  faith  of 
the  people  he  addresses  in  his  faith.  In  England 
the  religious  spirit  is  deeply  rooted.  I  could  not 
help  feeling,  as  I  saw  that  surging  mass  of  men 
and  women  outside  the  City  Temple  in  London 
after  the  service,  how  earnest  they  all  were  in 
their  exertions  to  hear  the  Gospel.  In  my  own 
country  I  had  been  used  to  crowds  that  were  more 
curious  in  their  attitude,  less  reverent  of  the 
occasion.  Dr.  Parker's  description  of  the  sermon 
after  it  was  over  expressed  the  effect  of  my  Gospel 
message  upon  that  crowd  in  England. 

He  said  :  "  That  is  the  most  sublime,  pathetic 
and  impressive  appeal  we  ever  listened  to.  It 
has  kindled  the  fire  of  enthusiasm  in  our  souls 
that  will  burn  on  for  ever.  It  has  unfolded  possi- 
bilities of  the  pulpit  never  before  reached. 
It  has  stirred  all  hearts  with  the  holiest 
ambition." 

So  should  every  sermon,  preached  in  every 
place  in  the  world  on  jevery  Sunday  in  the  world, 
be  a  message  from  God  and  His  angels  ! 


260      THE   FIFTEENTH  MILESTONE 

The  sustaining  enthusiasm  of  my  friend,  Dr. 
Parker,  and  his  people  at  the  City  Temple,  pre- 
ceded me  everywhere  in  England,  and  established 
a  series  of  experiences  in  my  evangelical  work 
that  surprised  and  enthralled  me. 

In  Nottingham  I  was  told  that  Albert  Hall, 
where  I  preached,  could  not  hold  over  3,000 
people.  That  number  of  tickets  for  my  sermon 
were  distributed  from  the  different  pulpits  in  the 
city,  but  hundreds  were  disappointed  and  waited 
for  me  outside  afterwards.  This  was  no  personal 
tribute  to  me,  but  to  the  English  people,  to  whom 
my  Gospel  message  was  of  serious  import.  The 
text  I  used  most  during  this  preaching  tour  was 
from  Daniel  xi.  2  :  "  The  people  that  do  know 
their  God  shall  be  strong  and  do  exploits."  It 
applied  to  the  people  of  Great  Britain  and  they 
responded  and  understood. 

In  a  more  concrete  fashion  I  was  privileged  to 
witness  also  the  tremendous  influence  of  religious 
feeling  in  England  at  the  banquet  tendered  by  the 
Lord  Mayor  at  the  Mansion  House  on  July  3, 
1892,  to  the  Archbishops  and  Bishops  of  England. 
The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  Bishop  of 
London,  and  the  diocesan  bishops  were  present. 
The  Lord  Mayor,  in  his  address,  said  that  the 
association  between  the  Church  and  the  Cor- 
poration of  London  had  been  close,  long,  and 
continuous.  In  that  year,  he  said,  the  Church 
had  spent  on  buildings  and  restorations  thirty- 
five  million  pounds  ;  on  home  missions,  seven 
and  a  half  millions  ;  on  foreign  missions,  ten 
millions  ;  on  elementary  education,  twenty-one 
millions;  and  in  charity,  six  millions.  What  a 
stupendous  evidence  of  the  religious  spirit  in 
England  !  A  toast  was  proposed  to  the  "  Minis- 
ters of  other  Denominations,"  which  included 
the    Rev.    Dr.    Newman    Hall    and    myself     of 


JOHN   RUSKIN  261 

America,  among  other  foreign  guests.  To  this 
I  responded. 

Before  leaving  for  Russia  I  met  a  part  of 
the  American  colony  in  London  at  a  reception 
given  by  Mr.  Lincoln,  our  Minister  to  England. 
We  gathered  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  of  July. 
Mrs.  Mackey,  Mrs.  Paran  Stevens,  Mrs.  Bradley 
Martin,  and  Mrs.  Bonynge  received  among 
others.  Phillips  Brooks  and  myself  were 
among  the  clerical  contingent,  with  such 
Americans  abroad  as  Colonel  Tom  Ochiltree, 
Buffalo  Bill,  General  and  Mrs.  Williams, 
A.  M.  Palmer,  Mrs.  New,  the  Consul-General's 
wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Collins,  Senators 
Farwell    and    McDonald. 

While  travelling  in  England  I  saw  John  Ruskin. 
This  fact  contains  more  happiness  to  me  than  I 
can  easily  make  people  understand.  I  wanted  to 
see  him  more  than  any  other  man,  crowned  or 
uncrowned.  When  I  was  in  England  at  other 
times  Mr.  Ruskin  was  always  absent  or  sick,  but 
this  time  I  found  him.  I  was  visiting  the  Lake 
district  of  England,  and  one  afternoon  I  took  a 
drive  that  will  be  for  ever  memorable.  I  said, 
"  Drive  out  to  Mr.  Ruskin's  place,"  which  was 
some  eight  miles  away.  The  landlord  from  whom 
I  got  the  conveyance  said,  "  You  will  not  be  able 
to  see  Mr.  Ruskin.  No  one  sees  him  or  has  seen 
him  for  years."  Well,  I  have  a  way  of  keeping 
on  when  I  start.  After  an  hour  and  a  half  of  a 
delightful  ride  we  entered  the  gates  of  Mr. 
Ruskin's  home.  The  door  of  the  vine-covered, 
picturesque  house  was  open,  and  I  stood  in  the 
hall- way.  Handing  my  card  to  a  servant  I  said, 
"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Ruskin."  The  reply  was,  "  Mr. 
Ruskin  is  not  in,  and  he  never  sees  anyone." 
Disappointed,  I  turned  back,  took  the  carriage 
and  went  down  the  road.     I  said  to  the  driver. 


262      THE   FIFTEENTH  MILESTONE 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Ruskin  when  you  see  him  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
years."  We  rode  on  a  few  moments,  then  the 
driver  cried  out  to  me,  "  There  he  comes  now." 
In  a  minute  we  had  arrived  at  where  Mr.  Ruskin 
was  walking  toward  us.  I  alighted,  and  he 
greeted  me  with  a  quiet  manner  and  a  genial 
smile.  He  looked  like  a  great  man  worn  out ; 
beard  full  and  tangled  ;  soft  hat  drawn  down 
over  his  forehead  ;  signs  of  physical  weakness 
with  determination  not  to  show  it.  His  valet 
walked  beside  him  ready  to  help  or  direct  his 
steps.  He  deprecated  any  remarks  appreciatory 
of  his  wonderful  services.  He  had  the  appearance 
of  one  whose  work  is  completely  done,  and  is 
waiting  for  the  time  to  start  homeward.  He 
was  in  appearance  more  like  myself  than  any 
person  I  ever  saw,  and  if  I  should  live  to  be  his  age 
the  likeness  will  be  complete. 

I  did  not  think  then  that  Mr.  Ruskin  would 
ever  write  another  paragraph.  He  would  con 
tinue  to  saunter  along  the  English  lane  very 
slowly,  his  valet  by  his  side,  for  a  year  or  two, 
and  then  fold  his  hands  for  his  last  sleep.  Then 
the  whole  world  would  speak  words  of  gratitude 
and  praise  which  it  had  denied  him  all  through 
the  years  in  which  he  was  laboriously  writing 
"  Modern  Painters,"  "  The  Seven  Lamps  of 
Architecture,"  "  The  Stones  of  Venice,"  and 
"Ethics  of  the  Dust."  We  cannot  imagine 
what  the  world's  literature  would  have  been  if 
Thomas  Carlyle  and  John  Ruskin  had  never 
entered  it.  I  shall  never  forget  how  in  the  early 
years  of  my  ministry  I  picked  up  in  Wynkoop's 
store,  in  Syracuse,  for  the  first  time,  one  of 
Ruskin's  works.  I  read  that  book  under  the 
trees,  because  it  was  the  best  place  to  read  it. 
Ruskin    was    the  first   great   interpreter    of    the 


MY   VISIT   TO   RUSSIA  263 

language  of  leaves,  of  clouds,  of  rivers,  of  lakes, 
of  seas. 

In  July,  1892,  I  went  to  Russia.  It  was  summer 
in  the  land  of  snow  and  ice,  so  that  we  saw  it  in 
the  glow  of  sunny  days,  in  the  long  gold-tipped 
twilights  of  balmy  air.  In  America  we  still  re- 
garded Russia  as  a  land  of  cruel  mystery  and 
imperial  oppression.  There  was  as  much  ignor- 
ance about  the  Russians,  their  Government,  their 
country,  as  there  was  about  the  Fiji  Islands. 
Americans  had  been  taught  that  Siberia  was 
Russia,  that  Russia  and  Siberia  were  the  same, 
one  vast  infinite  waste  of  misery  and  cruelty. 
Granted  that  I  went  to  Russia  on  an  errand  of 
mercy,  and  as  a  representative  of  the  most  power- 
ful nation  in  the  world,  nevertheless  I  contend 
that  the  Russian  people  and  their  Government 
were  hugely  misrepresented.  There  was  no  need 
for  the  Emperor  of  Russia  to  give  audience  to  so 
humble  a  representative  as  a  minister  of  the 
Gospel  unless  he  had  been  sincerely  touched  by 
the  evidence  of  American  generosity  and  mercy 
for  his  starving  peasants  in  Central  Russia.  His 
courtesy  and  reception  of  me  was  a  complete 
contradiction  of  his  reported  arrogance  and  hard- 
heartedness.  There  was  no  need  for  the  Town 
Council  of  St.  Petersburg  to  honour  myself  and 
my  party  with  receptions  and  dinners,  and  there 
was  no  reason  for  the  enthusiasm  and  cheers  of 
the  Russian  people  in  the  streets  unless  they  were 
intensely  kind  and  enthusiastic  in  nature.  When 
the  famine  conditions  occurred  in  the  ten  pro- 
vinces of  Russia  a  relief  committee  was  formed 
in  St.  Petersburg,  with  the  Grand  Duke  himself 
at  the  head  of  it,  and  such  men  as  Count  Tolstoi 
and  Count  Bobrinsky  in  active  assistance. 
America  answered  the  appeal  for  food,  but 
their  was  sincere  sympathy  and  compassion  for 


264      THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

their  compatriots  in  the  imperial  circles  of 
Russia. 

In  the  famine  districts,  which  were  vast  enough 
to  hold  several  nations,  a  drought  that  had  lasted 
for  six  consecutive  years  had  devastated  the 
country.  According  to  the  estimate  of  the  Russian 
Famine  Relief  Committee  we  saved  the  lives  of 
125,000  Russians. 

As  at  the  hunger  relief  stations  the  bread  was 
handed  out — for  it  was  made  into  loaves  and 
distributed  —  many  people  would  halt  before 
taking  it  and  religiously  cross  themselves  and 
utter  a  prayer  for  the  donors.  Some  of  them 
would  come  staggering  back  and  say  : — 

"  Please  tell  us  who  sent  this  bread  to  us  ?  5: 
And  when  told  it  came  from  America,  they  would 
say  •  "  What  part  of  America  ?  Please  give  us 
the  names  of  those  who  sent  it." 

My  visit  to  the  Czar  of  Russia,  Alexander  III., 
was  made  at  the  Imperial  Palace.  I  was  ushered 
into  a  small,  very  plain  apartment,  in  which  I 
found  the  Emperor  seated  alone,  quietly  engaged 
with  his  official  cares.  He  immediately  arose, 
extended  his  hand  with  hearty  cordiality,  and 
said  in  the  purest  English,  as  he  himself  placed 
a  chair  for  me  beside  his  table,  "  Doctor  Talmage, 
I  am  very  happy  to  meet  you." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  conversation 
during  which  the  Emperor  manifested  both  the 
liveliest  interest  and  thorough  familiarity  with 
American  politics,  and,  after  a  lengthy  discussion 
of  everything  American,  the  Emperor  said,  "  Dr. 
Talmage,  you  must  see  my  eldest  son,  Nicholas," 
with  which  he  touched  a  bell,  calling  his  aide-de- 
camp, who  promptly  summoned  the  Grand  Duke 
Nicholas,  who  appeared  with  the  youngest  daughter 
of  the  Emperor  skipping  along  behind  him — a 
plump,  bright  little  girl  of  probably  eight  or  nine 


ALEXANDER   III.  265 

years.  She  jumped  upon  the  Emperor's  lap  and 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck.  When  she  had 
been  introduced  to  me  she  gave  "  The  American 
gentleman  "  the  keenest  scrutiny  of  which  her 
sparkling  eyes  were  capable.  The  Grand  Duke 
was  a  fine  young  man,  of  about  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  tall,  of  athletic  build,  graceful  carriage, 
and  noticeably  amiable  features.  On  being 
introduced  to  me  the  Grand  Duke  extended  his 
hand  and  said,  "Dr.  Talmage,  I  am  also  glad  to  meet 
you,  for  we  all  feel  that  we  have  become  acquainted 
with  you  through  your  sermons,  in  which  we 
have  found  much  interest  and  religious  edification." 

Noticing  the  magnificent  physique  of  both 
father  and  son,  I  asked  the  Emperor,  when  the 
conversation  turned  incidentally  upon  matters 
of  health,  what  he  did  to  maintain  such  fine 
strength  in  the  midst  of  all  the  cares  of  State. 
He  replied,  "  Doctor,  the  secret  of  my  strength 
is  in  my  physical  exercise.  This  I  never  fail  to 
take  regularly  and  freely  every  day  before  I 
enter  upon  any  of  the  work  of  my  official  duties,  and 
to  it  I  attribute  the  excellent  health  which  I  enjoy." 

The  Emperor  insisted  that  I  should  see  the 
Empress  and  the  rest  of  the  Imperial  Family, 
and  we  proceeded  to  another  equally  plain,  un- 
pretentious apartment  where,  with  her  daughters, 
we  found  the  Empress.  After  a  long  conversation, 
and  just  as  I  was  leaving,  I  asked  the  Emperor 
whether  there  was  much  discontent  among  the 
nobility  as  a  result  of  the  emancipation  among 
the  serfs,  and  he  replied,  "  Yes,  all  the  trouble 
with  my  empire  arises  from  the  turbulence  and 
discontent  of  the  nobility.  The  people  are  per- 
fectly quiet  and  contented." 

A  reference  was  made  to  the  possibility  of  war, 
and  I  remember  the  fear  with  which  the  Empress 
entered  into  the  talk  just  then,  saying  "  We  all 


266       THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

dread  war.  With  our  modern  equipments  it 
could  be  nothing  short  of  massacre,  and  from  that 
we  hope  we  may  be  preserved." 

My  presentation  at  Peterhoff  Palace  to  Alex- 
ander III.  and  the  royal  family  of  Russia  was 
entirely  an  unexpected  event  in  my  itinerary. 
It  was  in  the  nature  of  a  compliment  to  my 
mission,  to  the  American  people  who  have  con- 
tributed so  much  to  the  distress  in  Russia,  and 
to  the  Christian  Church  for  which  this  "  hard- 
hearted, cruel  Czar  "  had  so  much  respect  and  so 
much  interest.  It  was  said  that  in  common  with 
all  Americans  I  expected  to  find  the  Emperor 
attired  in  some  bomb-proof  regalia.  Perhaps  I 
was  impressed  with  the  Czar's  indifference  and 
fearlessness.  Someone  said  to  me  that  no  doubt 
he  was  quite  used  to  the  thought  of  assassination. 
I  discovered,  in  a  long  conversation  that  I  had 
with  him,  that  he  was  ready  to  die,  and  when  a 
man  is  ready  why  should  he  be  afraid  ? 

The  most  significant  and  important  outcome 
of  this  presentation  to  the  Czar  was  his  pledge 
to  my  countrymen  that  Russia  would  always 
remember  the  generosity  of  the  American  people 
in  their  future  relations.  Everywhere  in  St. 
Petersburg  and  Moscow,  the  Russian  and  Ameri- 
can flags  were  displayed  together  on  the  public 
buildings,  so  that  I  look  back  upon  this  occasion 
with  a  pardonable  impression  of  its  international 
importance.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  this 
feeling  in  an  address  presented  to  us  by  the  City 
Council  of  St.  Petersburg,  in  which  a  graceful 
remembrance  was  made  of  that  occasion  in  1868, 
when  a  special  embassy  from  the  United  States, 
with  Mr.  G.  V.  Fox,  a  Cabinet  officer,  at  its  head, 
visited  St.  Petersburg  and  expressed  sympathy 
for  Russia  and  its  Sovereign. 

Returning  from  Russia,  I  continued  my  preaching 


ENGLISH  KINDNESS  267 

tour  in  England,  preaching  to  immense  crowds, 
estimated  in  the  English  newspapers  to  be  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  people,  in  the  large 
cities.  In  Birmingham  the  crowd  followed  me 
into  the  hotel,  where  it  was  necessary  to  lock  the 
doors  to  keep  them  out.  What  incalculable  kind- 
ness I  received  in  England  !  I  remember  a  fare- 
well banquet  given  me  at  the  Crystal  Palace  by 
twenty  Nonconformists,  at  which  I  was  presented 
with  a  gold  watch  from  my  English  friends  ;  and 
a  scene  in  Swansea,  when,  after  my  sermon,  they 
sang  Welsh  hymns  to  me  in  their  native  language. 
Some  people  wonder  how  I  have  kept  in  such 
good  humour  with  the  world  when  I  have  been 
at  times  violently  assailed  or  grossly  misrepre- 
sented. It  was  because  the  kindnesses  towards 
me  have  predominated.  For  the  past  thirty  or 
forty  years  the  mercies  have  carried  the  day.  If 
I  went  to  the  depot  there  was  a  carriage  to  meet 
me.  If  I  tarried  at  the  hotel  some  one  mysteriously 
paid  the  bill.  If  I  were  attacked  in  newspaper  or 
church  court  there  were  always  those  willing  to 
take  up  for  me  the  cudgels.  If  I  were  falsified  the 
lie  somehow  turned  out  to  my  advantage. 
My  enemies  have  helped  me  quite  as  much  as  my 
friends.  If  I  preached  or  lectured  I  always  had 
a  crowd.  If  I  had  a  boil  it  was  almost  always  in 
a  comfortable  place.  If  my  church  burned  down 
I  got  a  better  one.  I  offered  a  manuscript  to  a 
magazine,  hoping  to  get  for  it  forty  dollars,  which 
I  much  needed  at  the  time.  The  manuscript  was 
courteously  returned  as  not  being  available  ;  but 
that  article  for  which  I  could  not  get  forty  dollars 
has  since,  in  other  uses,  brought  me  forty  thousand 
dollars.  The  caricaturists  have  sent  multitudes 
of  people  to  hear  me  preach  and  lecture .  I  have  had 
antagonists ;  but  if  any  man  of  my  day  has  had  more 
warm  personal  friends  I  do  not  know  his  name. 


THE   SIXTEENTH   MILESTONE 

1892—1895 

I  had  only  one  fault  to  find  with  the  world  in  my 
sixty  years  of  travel  over  it  and  that  was  it  had 
treated  me  too  well.  In  the  ordinary  course  of 
events,  and  by  the  law  of  the  Psalmist,  I  still  had 
ten  more  years  before  me  ;  but,  according  to  my 
own  calculations,  life  stretched  brilliantly  ahead 
of  me  as  far  as  heart  and  mind  could  wish.  There 
were  many  things  to  take  into  consideration. 
There  was  the  purpose  of  the  future,  its  obliga- 
tions, its  opportunities  to  adjust.  My  whole  life 
had  been  a  series  of  questions.  My  course  had 
been  the  issue  of  problems,  a  choice  of  many  ways. 
Shortly  after  the  dawn  of  1893  the  financial 
difficulties  in  which  the  New  Tabernacle  had  been 
reared  confronted  us.  It  had  arisen  from  the 
ashes  of  its  predecessor  by  sheer  force  of  energy 
and  pluck.  It  had  taken  a  vast  amount  of 
negotiation.  A  loan  of  $125,000,  made  to  us  by 
Russell  Sage,  payable  in  one  year  at  6  per  cent., 
was  one  of  the  means  employed.  This  loan  was 
arranged  by  Mr.  A.  L.  Soulard,  the  president  of 
the  German- American  Title  and  Guarantee  Com- 
pany. Mr.  Sage  was  a  friend  of  mine,  of  my 
church,  and  that  was  some  inducement.  The 
loan  was  made  upon  the  guarantee  of  the  Title 

268 


SPIRITUAL  WARNING  269 

Company.  It  was  reported  to  me  that  Mr.  Sage 
had  said  at  this  time  : — 

"  It  all  depends  upon  whether  Dr.  Talmage 
lives  or  not.  If  he  should  happen  to  die  the 
Brooklyn  Tabernacle  wouldn't  be  worth  much." 

The  German-American  Title  and  Guarantee 
Company  then  secured  an  insurance  on  my  life 
for  $25,000  and  insisted  that  the  Board  of 
Trustees  of  the  church  give  their  individual  bonds 
for  the  fulfillment  of  the  mortgage.  The  trustees 
were  W.  D.  Mead,  F.  H.  Branch,  John  Wood, 
C.  S.  Darling,  F.  M.  Lawrence,  and  James  B. 
Ferguson.  In  this  way  Mr.  Sage  satisfied  both 
his  religious  sympathies  and  his  business  nature. 
For  more  reasons  than  one,  therefore,  I  kept 
myself  in  perfect  health.  This  was  only  one  of 
the  incidents  involved  in  the  building  of  the  New 
Tabernacle.  For  two  years  I  had  donated  my 
salary  of  $12,000  a  year  to  the  church,  and  had 
worked  hard  incessantly  to  infuse  it  with  life 
and  success.  This  information  may  serve  to  con- 
tradict some  scattered  impressions  made  by  our 
friendly  critics,  that  my  personal  aim  in  life  was 
mercenary  and  selfish.  My  income  from  my 
lectures,  and  the  earnings  from  my  books  and 
published  sermons,  were  sufficient  for  all  my 
needs. 

During  the  year  1893  I  did  my  best  to  stem  the 
tide  of  debt  and  embarrassment  in  which  the 
business  elements  of  the  church  was  involved.  I 
find  an  entry  in  my  accounts  of  a  check  dated 
March  27,  1893,  in  Brooklyn,  for  $10,000,  which 
I  donated  to  the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle  Emergency 
Fund.  There  is  a  spiritual  warning  in  almost 
every  practical  event  of  our  lives,  and  it  seemed 
that  in  that  year,  so  discomforting  to  the  New 
Tabernacle,  there  was  a  spiritual  warning  to  me 
which  grew  into  a  certainty  of  feeling  that  my 


270      THE   SIXTEENTH   MILESTONE 

work  called  me  elsewhere.  I  said  nothing  of  this 
to  anyone,  but  quietly  thought  the  situation  over 
without  haste  or  undue  prejudice.  My  Gospel 
field  was  a  big  one.  The  whole  world  accepted 
the  Gospel  as  I  preached  it,  and  I  concluded  that 
it  did  not  make  much  difference  where  the  pulpit 
was  in  which  I  preached. 

After  a  full  year's  consideration  of  the  entire 
outlook,  in  January,  1894,  I  announced  my 
resignation  as  pastor  of  the  Tabernacle,  to  take 
effect  in  the  spring  of  that  year.  I  gave  no  other 
cause  than  that  I  felt  that  I  had  been  in  one  place 
long  enough.  An  attempt  was  made  by  the  Press 
to  interpret  my  action  into  a  private  difference 
of  opinion  with  the  trustees  of  the  church — but 
this  was  not  true.  All  sorts  of  plans  were  proposed 
for  raising  the  required  sum  of  our  expensive 
church  management,  in  which  I  concurred  and 
laboured  heartily.  It  was  said  that  I  resigned 
because  the  trustees  were  about  to  decide  in 
favour  of  charging  a  nominal  fee  of  ten  cents  to 
attend  our  services.  I  made  no  objection  to  this. 
My  resignation  was  a  surprise  to  the  congregation 
because  I  had  not  indicated  my  plans  or  intimated 
to  them  my  own  private  expectations  of  the 
remaining  years  of  my  life. 

On  Sunday,  January  22,  1894,  among  the  usual 
church  announcements  made  from  the  pulpit,  I 
read  the  following  statement,  which  I  had  written 
on  a  slip  of  paper  : — 

"  This  coming  spring  I  will  have  been  pastor 
of  this  church  twenty-five  years — a  quarter  of  a 
century — long  enough  for  any  minister  to  preach 
in  one  place.  At  that  anniversary  I  will  resign 
this  pulpit,  and  it  will  be  occupied  by  such  person 
as  you  may  select. 

"  Though  the  work  has  been  arduous,  because 
of  the  unparalleled  necessity  of  building  three 


PASTOR   AND   FLOCK  271 

great  churches,  two  of  them  destroyed  by  fire, 
the  field  has  been  delightful  and  blessed  by  God. 
No  other  congregation  has  ever  been  called  to 
build  three  churches,  and  I  hope  no  other  pastor 
will  ever  be  called  to  such  an  undertaking. 

"  My  plans  after  resignation  have  not  been 
developed,  but  I  shall  preach  both  by  voice  and 
newspaper  press,  as  long  as  my  life  and  health 
are  continued. 

"  From  first  to  last  we  have  been  a  united 
people,  and  my  fervent  thanks  are  to  all  the 
Boards  of  Trustees  and  Elders,  whether  of  the 
present  or  past,  and  to  all  the  congregation,  and 
to  New  York  and  Brooklyn. 

"  I  have  no  vocabulary  intense  enough  to 
express  my  gratitude  to  the  newspaper  press  of 
these  cities  for  the  generous  manner  in  which  they 
have  treated  me  and  augmented  my  work  for 
this  quarter  of  a  century. 

"  After  such  a  long  pastorate  it  is  a  painful 
thing  to  break  the  ties  of  affection,  but  I  hope  our 
friendship  will  be  renewed  in  Heaven." 

There  was  a  sorrowful  silence  when  I  stopped 
reading,  which  made  me  realise  that  I  had  tasted 
another  bitter  draft  of  life  in  the  prospect  of 
farewell  between  pastor  and  flock.  I  left  the 
church  alone  and  went  quietly  to  my  study  where 
I  closed  the  door  to  all  inquirers. 

If  my  decision  had  been  made  upon  any  other 
ground  than  those  of  spiritual  obligation  to  the 
purpose  of  my  whole  life  I  should  have  said  so. 
My  decision  had  been  made  because  I  had  been 
thinking  of  my  share  in  the  evangelism  of  the 
world,  and  how  mercifully  I  had  been  spared  and 
instructed  and  forwarded  in  my  Gospel  mission. 
I  wanted  a  more  neighbourly  relation  with  the 
human  race  than  the  prescribed  limitations  of  a 
single  pulpit. 


272      THE   SIXTEENTH  MILESTONE 

In  February,  1893,  I  lost  an  evangelical 
neighbour  of  many  years — Bishop  Brooks.  He 
was  a  giant,  but  he  died.  My  mind  goes  back  to 
the  time  when  Bishop  Brooks  and  myself  were 
neighbours  in  Philadelphia.  He  had  already 
achieved  a  great  reputation  as  a  pulpit  orator  in 
1870.  The  first  time  I  saw  him  was  on  a  stormy 
night  as  he  walked  majestically  up  the  aisle  of  the 
church  to  which  I  administered.  He  had  come 
to  hear  his  neighbour,  as  afterward  I  often  went  to 
hear  him.  What  a  great  and  genial  soul  he  was  ! 
He  was  a  man  that  people  in  the  streets 
stopped  to  look  at,  and  strangers  would  say  as  he 
passed,  "  I  wonder  who  that  man  is  ?  ,:  Of  un- 
usual height  and  stature,  with  a  face  beaming  in 
kindness,  once  seeing  him  he  was  always  remem- 
bered, but  the  pulpit  was  his  throne.  With  a 
velocity  of  utterance  that  was  the  despair  of  the 
swiftest  stenographers,  he  poured  forth  his  im- 
passioned soul,  making  every  theme  he  touched 
luminous  and  radiant. 

Putting  no  emphasis  on  the  mere  technicalities 
of  religion,  he  made  his  pulpit  flame  with  its 
power.  He  was  the  special  inspiration  of  young 
men,  and  the  disheartened  took  courage  under 
the  touch  of  his  words  and  rose  up  healed.  It 
will  take  all  time  and  all  eternity  to  tell  the  results 
of  his  Christian  utterances.  There  were  some  who 
thought  that  there  was  here  and  there  an  unsafe 
spot  in  his  theology.  As  for  ourselves  we  never 
found  anything  in  the  man  or  in  his  utterances 
that  we  did  not  like. 

Although  fully  realising  that  I  was  approaching 
a  crisis  of  some  sort  in  my  own  career,  it  was  with 
definite  thankfulness  for  the  mercies  that  had 
upheld  me  so  long  that  I  forged  ahead.  My  state 
of  mind  at  this  time  was  peaceful  and  contented. 
I  find  in  a  note-book  of  this  period  of  my  life  the 


EXTRACTS  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK  273 

following  entry,  which  betrays  the  trend  of  my 
heart  and  mind  during  the  last  milestone  of  my 
ministry  in  Brooklyn: 

"  Here  I  am  in  Madison,  Wisconsin,  July  23, 
1893.  I  have  been  attending  Monona  Lake 
Chautauqua,  lecturing  yesterday,  preaching  this 
morning.  This  Sabbath  afternoon  I  have  been 
thinking  of  the  goodness  of  God  to  me.  It  began 
many  years  before  I  was  born  ;  for  as  far  back  as 
I  can  find  anything  concerning  my  ancestry,  both 
on  my  father's  and  mother's  sides,  they  were 
virtuous  and  Christian  people.  Who  shall  esti- 
mate the  value  of  such  a  pedigree  ?  The  old 
cradle,  as  I  remember  it,  was  made  out  of  plain 
boards,  but  it  was  a  Christian  cradle.  God  has 
been  good  in  letting  us  be  born  in  a  fair  climate, 
neither  in  the  rigours  of  frigidity  nor  in  the  scorch- 
ing air  of  tropical  regions.  Fortunate  was  I  in  being 
started  in  a  home  neither  rich  nor  poor,  so  that  I 
had  the  temptations  of  neither  luxury  nor  poverty. 
Fortunate  in  good  health — sixty  years  of  it.  I 
say  sixty  rather  than  sixty-one,  for  I  believe  the 
first  year  or  two  of  my  life  compassed  all  styles  of 
infantile  ailments,  from  mumps  to  scarlet  fever. 

"  A  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  looking  at  a  pile 
of  manuscript  sermons,  I  said  again  and  again  to 
my  wife  :  '  Those  sermons  were  not  made  only 
for  the  people  who  have  already  heard  them. 
They  must  have  a  wider  field.'  The  prophecy 
came  true,  and  every  one  of  those  sermons 
through  the  press  has  come  to  the  attention  of  at 
least  twenty-five  million  people.  I  have  no 
reason  to  be  morose  or  splenetic.  <  Goodness  and 
mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days  of  my  life.' 
Here  I  am  at  61  years  of  age  without  an  ache, 
a  pain,  or  a  physical  infirmity.  Now  closing  a 
preaching  and  lecturing  tour  from  Georgia  to 
Minnesota  and  Wisconsin,  I  am  to-morrow  morning 


274      THE   FIFTEENTH   MILESTONE 

to  start  for  my  residence  at  the  seaside  where 
my  family  are  awaiting  me,  and  notwithstanding 
all  the  journeying  and  addressing  of  great 
audiences,  and  shaking  hands  with  thousands  of 
people,  after  a  couple  of  days'  rest  will  be  no  more 
weary  than  when  I  left  home.  '  Bless  the  Lord, 
O  my  soul  !  '  " 

My  ordinary  mode  of  passing  vacations  has 
been  to  go  to  East  Hampton,  Long  Island,  and 
thence  to  go  out  for  two  or  three  preaching  and 
lecturing  excursions  to  points  all  the  way  between 
New  York  and  San  Francisco,  or  from  Texas  to 
Maine.  I  find  that  I  cannot  rest  more  than  two 
weeks  at  a  time.  More  than  that  wearies  me. 
Of  all  the  places  I  have  ever  known  East  Hampton 
is  the  best  place  for  quiet  and  recuperation. 

I  became  acquainted  with  it  through  my 
brother-in-law,  Rev.  S.  L.  Mershon.  The  Pres- 
byterian church  here  was  his  first  pastoral 
settlement.  When  a  boy  in  grammar  school  and 
college  I  visited  him  and  his  wife,  my  sister  Mary. 
The  place  is  gradually  submitting  to  modern 
notions,  but  East  Hampton,  whether  in  its  anti- 
quated shape  or  epauletted  and  frilled  and  decor- 
ated by  the  hand  of  modern  enterprise,  has  always 
been  to  me  a  semi-Paradise. 

As  I  approach  it  my  pulse  is  slackened  and  a 
delicious  somnolence  comes  over  me.  I  dream 
out  the  work  for  another  year. 

My  most  useful  sermons  have  been  born  here. 
My  most  successful  books  were  planned  here.  In 
this  place,  between  the  hours  of  somnolence, 
there  come  hours  of  illumination  and  ecstasy.  It 
seems  far  off  from  the  heated  and  busy  world. 
East  Hampton  has  been  a  great  blessing  to  my 
family.  It  has  been  a  mercy  to  have  them  here, 
free  from  all  summer  heats.  When  nearly  grown, 
the  place  is  not  lively  enough  for  them,  but  an 


EAST   HAMPTON  275 

occasional  diversion  to  White  Sulphur,  or  Alum 
Springs,  or  a  summer  in  Europe,  has  given  them 
abundant  opportunity.  All  my  children  have 
been  with  us  in  Europe,  except  my  departed  son, 
DeWitt,  who  was  at  a  most  important  period  in 
school  at  the  time  of  our  going,  or  he  would  have 
been  with  us  on  one  of  our  foreign  tours. 

I  have  crossed  the  ocean  twelve  times,  that  is 
six  each  way,  and  like  it  less  and  less.  It  is  to  me 
a  stomachic  horror.  But  the  frequent  visits  have 
given  educational  opportunity  to  my  children. 
Foreign  travel,  and  lecturing  and  preaching 
excursions  in  our  own  country  have  been  to  me 
a  stimulus,  while  East  Hampton  has  been  to  me  a 
sedative  and  anodyne.  For  this  beautiful  medi- 
cament I  am  profoundly  thankful. 

But  I  am  writing  this  in  the  new  house  that  we 
have  builded  in  place  of  our  old  one.  It  is  far 
more  beautiful  and  convenient  and  valuable  than 
the  old  one,  but  I  doubt  if  it  will  be  any  more 
useful.  And  a  railroad  has  been  laid  out,  and 
before  summer  is  passed  the  shriek  of  a  locomotive 
will  awaken  all  the  Rip  Van  Winkles  that  have 
been  slumbering  here  since  before  the  first 
almanac  was  printed. 

The  task  of  remembering  the  best  of  one's  life 
is  a  pleasant  one.  Under  date  of  December  20, 
1893,  I  find  another  recollection  in  my  note- 
book that  is  worth  amplifying. 

"  This  morning,  passing  through  Frankfort, 
Kentucky,  on  my  way  from  Lexington,  at  the 
close  of  a  preaching  and  lecturing  tour  of  nearly 
three  weeks,  I  am  reminded  of  a  most  royal  visit 
that  I  had  here  at  Frankfort  as  the  guest  of 
Governor  Blackburn,  at  the  gubernatorial  man- 
sion about  ten  years  ago. 

"  I  had  made  an  engagement  to  preach  twice 
at  High  Bridge,  Ky.,  a  famous  camp  meeting. 


276      THE   SIXTEENTH   MILESTONE 

Governor  Blackburn  telegraphed  me  to  Brooklyn 
asking  when  and  where  I  would  enter  Kentucky, 
as  he  wished  to  meet  me  on  the  border  of  the 
State  and  conduct  me  to  the  High  Bridge  services. 
We  met  at  Cincinnati.  Crossing  the  Ohio  River, 
we  found  the  Governor's  especial  car  with  its 
luxurious  appointments  and  group  of  servants  to 
spread  the  table  and  wait  on  every  want.  The 
Governor,  a  most  fascinating  and  splendid  man, 
with  a  warmth  of  cordiality  that  glows  in  me  every 
time  I  recall  his  memory,  entertained  me  with  the 
story  of  his  life  which  had  been  a  romance  of 
mercy  in  the  healing  art,  he  having  been  elected 
to  his  high  office  in  appreciation  of  his  heroic 
services  as  physician  in  time  of  yellow  fever. 

"  At  Lexington  a  brusque  man  got  on  our  car, 
and  we  entered  with  him  into  vigorous  conver- 
sation. I  did  not  hear  his  name  on  introduction, 
and  I  felt  rather  sorry  that  the  Governor  should 
have  invited  him  into  our  charming  seclusion. 
But  the  stranger  became  such  an  entertainer  as  a 
colloquialist,  and  demonstrated  such  extraordi- 
nary intellectuality,  I  began  to  wonder  who  he 
was,  and  I  addressed  him,  saying,  "  Sir,  I  did  not 
hear  your  name  when  you  were  introduced." 
He  replied,  '  My  name  is  Beck — Senator  Beck.' 
Then  and  there  began  one  of  the  most  entertain- 
ing friendships  of  my  life.  Great  Scotch  soul  ! 
Beck  came  a  poor  boy  from  Scotland  to  America, 
hired  himself  out  for  farm  work  in  Kentucky, 
discovered  to  his  employer  a  fondness  for  reading, 
was  offered  free  access  to  his  employer's  large 
library,  and  marched  right  up  into  education  and 
the  legal  profession  and  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States." 

That  day  we  got  out  of  the  train  at  High 
Bridge.  My  sermon  was  on  "  The  Divinity  of  the 
Scriptures."     Directly  in  front  of  me,  and  with 


A   VISIT   TO   KENTUCKY  277 

most  intense  look,  whether  of  disapprobation  or 
approval  I  knew  not,  sat  the  Senator.  On  the 
train  back  to  Lexington,  where  he  took  me  in  his 
carriage  on  a  long  ride  amid  the  scenes  of  Clayiana, 
he  told  me  the  sermon  had  re-established  his 
faith  in  Christianity,  for  he  had  been  brought  up 
to  believe  the  Bible  as  most  of  the  people  in 
Scotland  believe  it.  But  I  did  not  know  all  that 
transpired  that  day  at  High  Bridge  until  after 
the  Senator  was  dead,  and  I  was  in  Lexington, 
and  visited  his  grave  at  the  cemetery  where  he 
sleeps  amid  the  mighty  Kentuckians  who  have 
adorned  their  State. 

On  this  last  visit  that  I  speak  of,  a  young  man 
connected  with  the  Phcenix  Hotel,  Lexington, 
where  Senator  Beck  lived  much  of  the  time,  and 
where  he  entertained  me,  told  me  that  on  the 
morning  of  the  day  that  Senator  Beck  went  writh 
me  to  High  Bridge  he  had  been  standing  in  that 
hotel  among  a  group  of  men  who  were  assailing 
Christianity,  and  expressing  surprise  that  Senator 
Beck  was  going  to  High  Bridge  to  hear  a  sermon. 
When  we  got  to  the  hotel  that  afternoon  the  same 
group  of  men  were  standing  together,  and  were 
waiting  to  hear  the  Senator's  report  of  the 
service,  and  hoping  to  get  something  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  religion.  My  informant  heard  them 
say  to  him,  "  Well,  how  was  it  ?  "  The  Senator 
replied,  "  Doctor  Talmage  proved  the  truth  of 
the  Bible  as  by  a  mathematical  demonstration. 
Now  talk  to  me  no  more  on  that  subject." 

On  Sunday  morning  I  returned  to  High  Bridge 
for  another  preaching  service.  Governor  Black- 
burn again  took  us  in  his  especial  car.  The 
word  "immensity"  may  give  adequate  idea  of 
the  audience  present.  Then  the  Governor  in- 
sisted that  I  go  with  him  to  Frankfort  and  spend 
a  few  days.     They  were  memorable  days  to  me. 


278      THE   SIXTEENTH  MILESTONE 

At  breakfast,  lunch  and  dinner  the  prominent 
people  of  Kentucky  were  invited  to  meet  me. 
Mrs.  Blackburn  took  me  to  preach  to  her  Bible 
Class  in  the  State  Prison.  I  think  there  were 
about  800  convicts  in  that  class.  Paul  would 
have  called  her  "  The  elect  lady,"  "  Thoroughly 
furnished  unto  all  good  works."  Heaven  only 
can  tell  the  story  of  her  usefulness.  What  days 
and  nights  they  were  at  the  Governor's  Mansion. 
No  one  will  ever  understand  the  heartiness  and 
generosity  and  warmth  of  Kentucky  hospitality 
until  he  experiences  it. 

President  Arthur  was  coming  through  Lexing- 
ton on  his  way  to  open  an  Exposition  at  Louis- 
ville. Governor  Blackburn  was  to  go  to  Lexing- 
ton to  receive  him  and  make  a  speech.  The 
Governor  read  me  the  speech  in  the  State  House 
before  leaving  Frankfort,  and  asked  for  my 
criticism.  It  was  an  excellent  speech  about 
which  I  made  only  one  criticism,  and  that  con- 
cerning a  sentence  in  which  he  praised  the  beauti- 
ful women  and  the  fine  horses  of  Kentucky.  I 
suggested  that  he  put  the  human  and  the  equine 
subjects  of  his  admiration  in  different  sentences, 
and  this  suggestion  he  adopted. 

We  started  for  Lexington  and  arrived  at  the 
hotel.  Soon  the  throngs  in  the  streets  showed 
that  the  President  of  the  United  States  was 
coming.  The  President  was  escorted  into  the 
parlour  to  receive  the  address  of  welcome,  and 
seeing  me  in  the  throng,  he  exclaimed,  "Dr. 
Talmage  !  Are  you  here  ?  It  makes  me  feel  at 
home  to  see  you."  The  Governor  put  on  his 
spectacles  and  began  to  read  his  speech,  but  the 
light  was  poor,  and  he  halted  once  or  twice  for  a 
word,  when  I  was  tempted  to  prompt  him,  for 
I  remembered  his  speech  better  than  he  did 
himself. 


KENTUCKY   HOSPITALITY        279 

That  day  I  bade  good-bye  to  Governor  Black- 
burn, and  I  saw  him  two  or  three  times  after 
that,  once  in  my  church  in  Brooklyn  and  once  in 
Louisville  lecture  hall,  where  he  stood  at  the 
door  to  welcome  me  as  I  came  in  from  New 
Orleans  on  a  belated  train  at  half-past  nine  o'clock 
at  night  when  I  ought  to  have  begun  my  lecture 
at  8  o'clock  ;  and  the  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was 
sick  and  in  sad  decadence  and  near  the  terminus 
of  an  eventful  life.  One  of  my  brightest  antici- 
pations of  Heaven  is  that  of  seeing  my  illustrious 
Kentucky  friend. 

That  experience  at  Frankfort  was  one  of  the 
many  courtesies  I  have  received  from  all  the 
leading  men  of  all  the  States.  I  have  known  many 
of  the  Governors,  and  Legislatures,  when  I  have 
looked  in  upon  them,  have  adjourned  to  give  me 
reception,  a  speech  has  always  been  called  for,  and 
then  a  general  hand-shaking  has  followed.  It  was 
markedly  so  with  the  Legislatures  of  Ohio  and 
Missouri.  At  Jefferson  City,  the  capital  of 
Missouri,  both  Houses  of  Legislature  adjourned 
and  met  together  in  the  Assembly  Room,  which 
was  the  larger  place,  and  then  the  Governor 
introduced  me  for  an  address. 

It  is  a  satisfaction  to  be  kindly  treated  by 
the  prominent  characters  of  your  own  time.  I 
confess  to  a  feeling  of  pleasure  when  General 
Grant,  at  the  Memorial  Services  at  Greenwood — 
I  think  the  last  public  meeting  he  ever  attended, 
and  where  I  delivered  the  Memorial  Address  on 
Decoration  Day — said  that  he  had  read  with 
interest  everything  that  appeared  connected  with 
my  name.  President  Arthur,  at  the  White  House 
one  day,  told  me  the  same  thing. 

Whenever  by  the  mysterious  laws  of  destiny 
I  found  myself  in  the  cave  of  the  winds  of  dis- 
pleasure, there  always  came  to  me  encouraging 


280      THE   SIXTEENTH   MILESTONE 

echoes  from  somewhere.  I  find  among  my  papers 
at  this  time  a  telegram  from  the  Russian  Am- 
bassador in  Washington,  which  illustrates  this 
idea. 

This  message  read  as  follows  : — 

"  Washington,  D.C.,  May  20,  1893. 

"  To  Rev.  T.  DeWitt  Talmage,  Bible  House,  New 
York. 

"  I  would  be  very  glad  to  see  you  on  the  27th 
of  May  in  Philadelphia  on  board  the  Russian 
flagship  '  Dimitry  Donskoy  '  at  eleven  o'clock,  to 
tender  to  you  in  presence  of  our  brilliant  sailors 
and  on  Russian  soil,  a  souvenir  His  Majesty  the 
Emperor  ordered  me  to  give  in  his  name  to  the 
American  gentleman  who  visited  Russia  during 
the  trying  year  1892. 

"  Cantacuzene." 

Gladly  I  obeyed  this  request,  and  was  pre- 
sented, amid  imperial  ceremonies,  with  a  mag- 
nificent solid  gold  tea  service  from  the  Emperor 
Alexander  III.  These  were  the  sort  of  apprecia- 
tive incidents  so  often  happening  in  my  life  that 
infused  my  work  with  encouragements. 

The  months  preceding  the  close  of  my  ministry 
in  Brooklyn  developed  a  remarkable  interest 
shown  among  those  to  whom  my  name  had  be- 
come a  symbol  of  the  Gospel  message.  There  was 
a  universal,  world-wide  recognition  of  my  work. 
Many  regretted  my  decision  to  leave  the  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle,  some  doubted  that  I  actually  intended 
to  do  so,  others  foretold  a  more  brilliant  future 
for  me  in  the  open  trail  of  Gospel  service  they 
expected  me  to  follow. 

All  this  enthusiasm  expressed  by  my  friends 
of  the  world  culminated  in  a  celebration  festival 
given  in  honour  of  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of 
my  pastorate  in  Brooklyn.    The  movement  spread 


TWENTY-FIFTH  ANNIVERSARY    281 

all  over  the  country  and  to  Europe.  It  was 
decided  to  make  the  occasion  a  sort  of  Interna- 
tional reception,  to  be  held  in  the  Tabernacle  on 
May  10  and  11,  1894. 

I  had  made  my  plans  for  a  wide  glimpse  of  the 
earth  and  the  people  on  it  who  knew  me,  but 
whom  I  had  never  seen.  I  had  made  pre- 
parations to  start  on  May  14,  and  the  dates  set 
for  this  jubilee  were  arranged  on  the  eve  of  my 
farewell.  I  was  about  to  make  a  complete 
circuit  of  the  globe,  and  whatever  my  friends 
expected  me  to  do  otherwise  I  approached  this 
occasion  with  a  very  definite  conclusion  that  it 
would  be  my  farewell  to  Brooklyn. 

I  recall  this  event  in  my  life  with  keen  contrasts 
of  feeling,  for  it  is  mingled  in  my  heart  with  swift 
impressions  of  extraordinary  joy  and  tragic 
import.  All  of  it  was  God's  will — the  blessing 
and  the  chastening. 

The  church  had  been  decorated  with  the  stars 
and  stripes,  with  gold  and  purple.  In  front  of  the 
great  organ,  under  a  huge  picture  of  the  pastor, 
was  the  motto  that  briefly  described  my  evan- 
gelical career  : — 

"  Tabernacle  his  pulpit ;  the  world  his  audi- 
ence." 

The  reception  began  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening  with  a  selection  on.  the  great  organ,  by 
Henry  Eyre  Brown,  our  organist,  of  an  original 
composition  written  by  him  and  called,  in  com- 
pliment to  the  occasion,  "  The  Talmage  Silver 
Anniversary  March."  On  the  speaker's  platform 
with  me  were  Mayor  Schieren,  of  Brooklyn,  Mr. 
Barnard  Peters,  Rev.  Father  Sylvester  Malone, 
Rev.  Dr.  John  F.  Carson,  ex-Mayor  David  A. 
Boody,  Rev.  Dr.  Gregg,  Rabbi  F.  De  Sol  Mendes, 
Rev.  Dr.  Louis  Albert  Banks,  Hon.  John  Winslow, 
Rev.  Spencer  F.  Roche,  and  Rev.  A.  C.  Dixon 


282      THE   SIXTEENTH   MILESTONE 

— an  undenominational  gathering  of  good  men. 
There  is,  perhaps,  no  better  way  to  record  my  own 
impressions  of  this  event  than  to  quote  the  words 
with  which  I  replied  to  the  complimentary 
speeches  of  this  oration.  They  recall,  more  closely 
and  positively,  the  sensibilities,  the  emotions, 
and  the  inspiration  of  that  hour: 

"  Dear  Mr.  Mayor,  and  friends  before  me,  and 
friends  behind  me,  and  friends  all  around  me, 
and  friends  hovering  over  me,  and  friends  in  this 
room,  and  the  adjoining  rooms,  and  friends  in- 
doors and  outdoors — forever  photographed  upon 
my  mind  and  heart  is  this  scene  of  May  10,  1894. 
The  lights,  the  flags,  the  decorations,  the  flowers, 
the  music,  the  illumined  faces  will  remain  with 
me  while  earthly  life  lasts,  and  be  a  cause  of 
thanksgiving  after  I  have  passed  into  the  Great 
Beyond.  Two  feelings  dominate  me  to-night — 
gratitude  and  unworthiness  ;  gratitude  first  to 
God,  and  next,  to  all  who  have  complimented  me. 

"  My  twenty-five  years  in  Brooklyn  have  been 
happy  years — hard  work,  of  course.  This  is  the 
fourth  church  in  which  I  have  preached  since  com- 
ing to  Brooklyn,  and  how  much  of  the  difficult 
work  of  church  building  that  implies  you  can  ap- 
preciate. This  church  had  its  mother  and  its  grand- 
mother, and  its  great-grandmother.  I  could  not  tell 
the  story  of  disasters  without  telling  the  story 
of  heroes  and  heroines,  and  around  me  in  all  these 
years  have  stood  men  and  women  of  whom  the 
world  was  not  worthy.  But  for  the  most  part  the 
twenty-five  years  have  been  to  me  a  great  happi- 
ness. With  all  good  people  here  present  the 
wonder  is,  although  they  may  not  express  it, 
1  What  will  be  the  effect  upon  the  pastor  of  this 
church;  of  all  this  scene?'  Only  one  effect,  I 
assure  you,  and  that  an  inspiration  for  better 
work  for  God  and  humanity.     And  the  question 


CONGRATULATIONS  283 

is  already  absorbing  my  entire  nature,  '  What  can 
I  do  to  repay  Brooklyn  for  this  great  uprising  ?  ' 
Here  is  my  hand  and  heart  for  a  campaign  of 
harder  work  for  God  and  righteousness  than  I  have 
ever  yet  accomplished.  I  have  been  told  that 
sometimes  in  the  Alps  there  are  great  avalanches 
called  down  by  a  shepherd's  voice.  The  pure 
white  snows  pile  up  higher  and  higher  like  a  great 
white  throne,  mountains  of  snow  on  mountains 
of  snow,  and  all  this  is  so  delicately  and  evenly 
poised  that  the  touch  of  a  hand  or  the  vibration 
of  air  caused  by  the  human  voice  will  send  down 
the  avalanche  into  the  valleys  with  all-compassing 
and  overwhelming  power.  Well,  to-night  I  think 
that  the  heavens  above  us  are  full  of  pure  white 
blessings,  mountains  of  mercy  on  mountains  of 
mercy,  and  it  will  not  take  much  to  bring  down 
the  avalanche  of  benediction,  and  so  I  put  up 
my  right  hand  to  reach  it  and  lift  my  voice  to 
start  it.  And  now  let  the  avalanche  of  blessing 
come  upon  your  bodies,  your  minds,  your  souls, 
your  homes,  your  churches,  and  your  city. 
Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting,  and  let  the  whole  earth  be 
filled  with  His  glory  !    Amen  and  Amen  !  " 

On  the  next  day,  May  11,  the  reception  was 
continued.  Among  the  speakers  was  the  Hon. 
William  M.  Evarts,  ex-Secretary  of  State,  who, 
though  advanced  in  years,  honoured  us  with  his 
presence  and  an  address.  Senator  Walsh,  of 
Georgia,  spoke  for  the  South  ;  ex-Congressman 
Joseph  C.  Hendrix  of  Brooklyn,  Rev.  Charles  L. 
Thompson,  Murat  Halstead,  Rev.  Dr.  I.  J. 
Lansing,  General  Tracey,  were  among  the  other 
speakers  of  the  evening. 

From  St.  Petersburg  came  a  cable,  signed  by 
Count  Bobrinsky,  saying  : — "  Heartfelt  congratu- 
lations from  remembering  friends." 


284       THE  SIXTEENTH  MILESTONE 

Messages  from  Senator  John  Sherman,  from 
Governor  McKinley  (before  he  became  President), 
from  Mr.  Gladstone,  from  Rev.  Joseph  Parker, 
and  among  others  from  London,  the  following 
cable,  which  I  shall  always  prize  among  the 
greatest  testimonials  of  the  broad  Gospel  purpose 
in  England — 

"  Cordial  congratulations  ;  grateful  acknow- 
ledgment of  splendid  services  in  ministry  during 
last  twenty-five  years.  Warm  wishes  for  future 
prosperity. 

"  (Signed)   Archdeacon  of  London, 
Canon  Wilberforce. 
Thomas  Davidson. 
Professor  Simpson. 
John  Lobb. 
Bishop  of  London." 

Appreciation,  good  cheer,  encouragement  swept 
around  and  about  me,  as  I  was  to  start  on  what 
Dr.  Gregg  described  as  "  A  walk  among  the 
people  of  my  congregation  "  around  the  world. 

The  following  Sunday,  May  13,  1894,  just  after 
the  morning  service,  the  Tabernacle  was  burned 
to  the  ground. 


THE  SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

1895—1898 

Among  the  mysteries  that  are  in  every  man's 
life,  more  or  less  influencing  his  course,  is  the 
mystery  of  disaster  that  comes  upon  him  noise- 
lessly, suddenly,  horribly.  The  destruction  of 
the  New  Tabernacle  by  a  fire  which  started  in  the 
organ  loft  was  one  of  these  mysteries  that  will 
never  be  revealed  this  side  of  eternity.  The 
destruction  of  any  church,  no  matter  how  large 
or  how  popular,  does  not  destroy  our  faith  in  God. 
Great  as  the  disaster  had  been,  much  greater  was 
the  mercy  of  Divine  mystery  that  prevented  a 
worse  calamity  in  the  loss  of  human  life.  The 
fire  was  discovered  just  after  the  morning  service, 
and  everyone  had  left  the  building  but  myself, 
Mrs.  Talmage,  the  organist,  and  one  or  two  per- 
sonal friends.  We  were  standing  in  the  centre 
aisle  of  the  church  when  a  puff  of  smoke  suddenly 
came  out  of  the  space  behind  the  organ.  In  less 
than  fifteen  minutes  from  that  discovery  the  huge 
pipe  organ  was  a  raging  furnace,  and  I  personally 
narrowly  escaped  the  falling  debris  by  the  rear 
door  of  my  church  study.  The  flags  and  decora- 
tion which  had  been  put  up  for  the  jubilee  celebra- 
tion had  not  been  moved,  and  they  whetted  the 
appetite  of  the  flames.  It  was  all  significant  to 
me  of  one  thing  chiefly,  that  at  some  points  of  my 

*«5 


286  THE   SEVENTEENTH   MILESTONE 

life  I  had  been  given  no  choice.  At  these  places 
of  surprise  in  my  life  there  was  never  any  doubt 
about  what  I  had  to  do.  God's  way  is  very  clear 
and  visible  when  the  Divine  purpose  is  intended 
for  you. 

I  had  delivered  that  morning  my  farewell 
sermon  before  departing  on  a  long  journey  around 
the  world.  My  prayer,  in  which  the  silent  sym- 
pathy of  a  vast  congregation  joined  me,  had 
invoked  the  Divine  protection  and  blessing  upon 
us,  upon  all  who  were  present  at  that  time,  upon 
all  who  had  participated  in  the  great  jubilee 
service  of  the  preceding  week.  On  the  tablets 
of  memory  I  had  recalled  all  the  kindnesses  that 
had  been  shown  our  church  by  other  churches  and 
other  pastors  on  that  occasion.  The  general 
feeling  of  my  prayer  had  been  an  outpouring  of 
heartfelt  gratitude  for  myself  and  my  flock.  As 
I  have  said  before,  God  speaks  loudest  in  the 
thunder  of  our  experiences.  There  were  several 
narrow  escapes,  for  the  fire  spread  with  great 
rapidity,  but,  fortunately,  all  escaped  from  the 
doomed  building  in  time.  Mr.  Frederick  W. 
Lawrence  and  Mr.  T.  E.  Matthews,  both  of  them 
trustees  of  the  church,  were  exposed  to  serious 
danger  and  their  escape  was  providential.  Mr. 
Lawrence  crept  out  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  the 
open  air,  and  Mr.  Matthews  was  almost  suffo- 
cated when  he  reached  the  street. 

The  flames  spread  rapidly  in  the  neighbourhood 
and  destroyed  the  Hotel  Regent,  adjoining  the 
church.  At  my  home  that  day  there  were  many 
messages  of  sympathy  and  condolence  brought  to 
me,  and  neighbouring  churches  sent  committees 
to  tender  the  use  of  their  pulpits.  In  the  after- 
noon the  Tabernacle  trustees  met  at  my  house 
and  submitted  the  following  letter,  which  was 
adopted  ; — 


SYMPATHY  AND  CONDOLENCE     287 

"  Dear  Dr.  Talmage. — With  saddened  hearts, 
but  undismayed,  and  with  faith  in  God  unshaken 
and  undisturbed,  the  trustees  of  the  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle  have  unanimously  resolved  to  rebuild 
the  Tabernacle.  We  find  that  after  paying  the 
present  indebtedness  there  will  be  nothing  left 
to  begin  with. 

"  But  if  we  can  feel  assured  that  our  dear 
pastor  will  continue  to  break  the  bread  of  life  to 
us  and  to  the  great  multitudes  that  are  accus- 
tomed to  throng  the  Tabernacle,  we  are  willing 
to  undertake  the  work,  firmly  believing  that  we 
can  safely  count  upon  the  blessing  of  God  and  the 
practical  sympathy  of  all  Christian  people. 

"  Will  you  kindly  give  us  the  encouragement 
of  your  promise  to  serve  the  Tabernacle  as  its 
pastor,  if  we  will  dedicate  a  new  building  free  from 
debt,  to  the  honour,  the  glory,  and  the  service 
of  God  ? 

"  Trustees  of  the  Tabernacle." 

On  reading  this  letter,  or  rather  hearing  it  read 
to  me,  in  the  impulse  of  gratitude  I  replied  in  like 
sympathy.  I  thanked  them,  and  remembering 
that  I  had  buried  their  dead,  baptised  their 
children  and  married  the  young,  my  heart  was  with 
them.  I  sincerely  felt  then,  and  perhaps  I 
always  did  feel,  that  I  would  rather  serve  them 
than  any  other  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
It  was  my  conclusion  that  if  the  trustees  could 
fulfil  the  conditions  they  had  mentioned,  of  build- 
ing a  new  Tabernacle,  free  of  debt,  I  would 
remain  their  pastor. 

My  date  for  beginning  my  journey  around  the 
world  had  been  May  14,  the  day  following  the 
disaster.  Before  leaving,  however,  I  dictated  the 
following  communication  to  my  friends  and  the 
friends  of  my  ministry  everywhere  ; — 


288  THE   SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

"  Our  church  has  again  been  halted  by  a  sword 
of  flame.  The  destruction  of  the  first  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle  was  a  mystery.  The  destruction  of 
the  second  a  greater — profound.  The  third  cala- 
mity we  adjourn  to  the  Judgment  Day  for  expla- 
nation. The  home  of  a  vast  multitude  of  souls, 
it  has  become  a  heap  of  ashes.  Whether  it  will 
ever  rise  again  is  a  prophecy  we  will  not  undertake. 
God  rules  and  reigns  and  makes  no  mistake.  He 
has  His  way  with  churches  as  with  individuals. 
One  thing  is  certain  :  the  pastor  of  the  Brooklyn 
Tabernacle  will  continue  to  preach  as  long  as  life 
and  health  last.  We  have  no  anxieties  about  a 
place  to  preach  in.  But  woe  is  unto  us  if  we 
preach  not  the  Gospel !  We  ask  for  the  prayers 
of  all  good  people  for  the  pastor  and  people  of 
the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle. 

"  T.  DeWitt   Talmage." 

At  half  past  nine  o'clock  on  the  night  of  May 
14,  1894,  I  descended  the  front  steps  of  my  home 
in  Brooklyn,  N.Y.  The  sensation  of  leaving  for 
a  journey  around  the  world  was  not  all  bright 
anticipation.  The  miles  to  be  travelled  were 
numerous,  the  seas  to  be  crossed  treacherous,  the 
solemnities  outnumbered  the  expectations.  My 
family  accompanied  me  to  the  railroad  train,  and 
my  thought  was  should  we  ever  meet  again  ?  The 
climatic  changes,  the  ships,  the  shoals,  the  hurri- 
canes, the  bridges,  the  cars,  the  epidemics,  the 
possibilities  hinder  any  positiveness  of  prophecy. 
I  remembered  the  consoling  remark  at  my 
reception  a  few  evenings  ago,  made  by  the  Hon. 
William  M.  Evarts. 

He  said  :  "  Dr.  Talmage  ought  to  realise  that 
if  he  goes  around  the  world  he  will  come  out  at 
the  same  place  he  started." 

The  timbers  of  our  destroyed  church  were  still 


STARTING  ON  MY  WORLD  JOURNEY  289 

smoking  when  I  left  home.  Three  great  churches 
had  been  consumed.  Why  this  series  of  huge 
calamities  I  knew  not.  Had  I  not  made  all  the 
arrangements  for  departure,  and  been  assured  by 
the  trustees  of  my  church  that  they  would  take 
all  further  responsibilities  upon  themselves,  I 
would  have  postponed  my  intended  tour  or  ad- 
journed it  for  ever  ;  but  all  whom  I  consulted 
told  me  that  now  was  the  time  to  go,  so  I  turned 
my  face  towards  the  Golden  Gate. 

In  a  book  called  "The  Earth  Girdled,"  I 
have  published  all  the  facts  of  this  journey.  It 
contains  so  completely  the  daily  record  of  my 
trip  that  there  is  no  necessity  to  repeat  any  of  its 
contents  in  these  pages. 

I  returned  to  the  United  States  in  the  autumn 
of  1894  and  entered  actively  into  a  campaign  of 
preaching  wherever  a  pulpit  was  available.  Of 
course  there  was  much  curiosity  and  interest  to 
know  how  I  was  going  to  pursue  my  Gospel  work, 
having  resigned  my  pastorate  in  Brooklyn.  On 
Sunday,  January  6,  1895,  I  commenced  a  series 
of  afternoon  Gospel  meetings  in  the  Academy  of 
Music,  New  York,  every  Sunday.  Because  the 
pastors  of  other  churches  had  written  me  that  an 
afternoon  service  was  the  only  one  that  would 
not  interfere  with  their  regular  services,  I  selected 
that  time,  otherwise  I  would  much  have  preferred 
the  morning  or  the  evening.  I  decided  to  go  to 
New  York  because  for  many  years  friends  over 
there  had  been  begging  me  to  come.  I  regarded 
it  as  absurd  and  improbable  to  expect  the 
people  of  Brooklyn  to  build  a  fourth  Tabernacle, 
so  I  went  in  the  direction  that  I  felt  would  give 
me  the  largest  opportunity  in  the  world. 

I  continued  to  reside  in  Brooklyn  pending 
future  plans.  I  liked  Brooklyn  immensely — not 
only  the  people  of  my  own  former  parish,  but 

u 


290  THE   SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

prominent  people  of  all  churches  and  denomina- 
tions there  are  my  warm  personal  friends.  Any 
particular  church  in  which  I  preached  thereafter 
was  only  the  candlestick.  In  different  parts  of 
the  world  my  sermons  were  published  in  more 
than  ten  million  copies  every  week.  How  many 
readers  saw  them  no  one  can  say  positively. 
Those  sermons  came  back  to  me  in  book  form  in 
almost  every  language  of  Europe. 

My  arrangements  at  the  Academy  of  Music 
were  not  the  final  plans  for  my  Gospel  work.  I 
expected,  however,  to  gather  from  these  Gospel 
meetings  sufficient  guidance  to  decide  my  field  of 
work  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  felt  then  that  I 
was  yet  to  do  my  best  work  free  from  all  hin- 
drances. I  looked  forward  to  fully  twenty  years 
of  good  hard  work  before  me. 

Over  nine  churches  in  my  own  country,  and 
several  in  England,  had  made  very  enthusiastic 
offers  to  me  to  accept  a  permanent  pastoral 
obligation.  For  some  reason  or  other  I  became 
more  and  more  convinced,  however,  that  the 
divine  intention  in  my  life  from  this  time  on 
would  be  different  from  any  previous  plan.  The 
only  reason  that  I  declined  to  accept  these  offers 
was  because  there  was  enough  work  for  me  to 
do  outside  a  permanent  pulpit. 

My  literary  work  became  extensive  in  its  de- 
mand upon  my  time,  and  my  weekly  sermons  were 
like  a  sacred  obligation  that  I  could  not  forego. 
I  never  found  any  difficulty  in  finding  a  pulpit 
from  which  to  preach  every  Sunday  of  my  life. 
There  were  some  ministers  who  preferred  to  sand- 
wich me  in  between  regular  hours  of  worship,  if 
possible,  so  as  to  maintain  the  even  course  of  their 
way  and  avoid  the  crowds.  I  never  could  avoid  them 
and  I  never  wanted  to.  I  was  never  nervous,  as 
many  people  are,  of  a  crowded  place — of  a  panic. 


ON   PANICS  291 

The  sudden  excitement  to  which  we  give  the 
name  of  "panic"  is  almost  always  senseless  and 
without  foundation,  whether  this  panic  be  a  wild 
rush  in  the  money  market  or  the  stampede  of  an 
audience  down  the  aisles  and  out  of  the  windows. 
My  advice  to  my  family  when  they  are  in  a  con- 
gregation of  people  suddenly  seized  upon  by  a 
determination  to  get  out  right  away,  and  to  get 
out  regardless  as  to  whether  others  are  able  to 
get  out,  is  to  sit  quiet  on  the  supposition  that 
nothing  has  happened,  or  is  going  to  happen. 

I  have  been  in  a  large  number  of  panics, 
and  in  all  the  cases  nothing  occurred  except  a 
demonstration  of  frenzy.  One  night  in  the 
Academy  of  Music,  Brooklyn,  while  my  congre- 
gation were  worshipping  there,  at  the  time  we 
were  rebuilding  one  of  our  churches,  there  occurred 
a  wild  panic.  There  was  a  sound  that  gave  the 
impression  that  the  galleries  were  giving  way 
under  the  immense  throngs  of  people.  I  had  been 
preaching  about  ten  minutes  when  at  the  alarm- 
ing sound  aforesaid,  the  whole  audience  rose  to 
their  feet  except  those  who  fainted.  Hundreds 
of  voices  were  in  full  shriek.  Before  me  I  saw 
strong  men  swoon.  The  organist  fled  the  platform. 
In  an  avalanche  people  went  down  the  stairs.  A 
young  man  left  his  hat  and  overcoat  and  sweet- 
heart, and  took  a  leap  for  life,  and  it  is  doubtful 
whether  he  ever  found  his  hat  or  coat,  although, 
I  suppose,  he  did  recover  his  sweetheart.  Terror- 
isation  reigned.  I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice, 
"  Sit  down  !  "  but  it  was  a  cricket  addressing  a 
cyclone.  Had  it  not  been  that  the  audience  for 
the  most  part  were  so  completely  packed  in,  there 
must  have  been  a  great  loss  of  life  in  the  struggle. 
Hoping  to  calm  the  multitude  I  began  to  sing 
the  long  meter  doxology,  but  struck  it  at  such  a 
high  pitch  that  by  the  time  I  came  to  the  second 


292  THE   SEVENTEENTH   MILESTONE 

line  I  broke  down.  I  then  called  to  a  gentleman 
in  the  orchestra  whom  I  knew  could  sing  well  : 
"  Thompson,  can't  you  sing  better  than  that  ?  " 
whereupon  he  started  the  doxology  again.  By 
the  time  we  came  to  the  second  line  scores  of 
voices  had  joined,  and  by  the  time  we  came  to 
the  third  line  hundreds  of  voices  enlisted,  and  the 
last  line  marshalled  thousands.  Before  the  last 
line  was  reached  I  cried  out,  "  As  I  was  saying 
when  you  interrupted  me,"  and  then  went  on 
with  my  sermon.  The  cause  of  the  panic  was  the 
sliding  of  the  snow  from  one  part  of  the  roof  of 
the  Academy  to  another  part.  That  was  all. 
But  no  one  who  was  present  that  night  will  ever 
forget  the  horrors  of  the  scene. 

On  the  following  Wednesday  I  was  in  the  large 
upper  room  of  the  college  at  Lewisburg,  Pa.;  I 
was  about  to  address  the  students.  No  more 
people  could  get  into  this  room,  which  was  on 
the  second  or  third  storey.  The  President  of  the 
college  was  introducing  me  when  some  inflam- 
mable Christmas  greens,  which  had  some  six 
months  before  been  wound  around  a  pillar  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  took  fire,  and  from  floor  to 
ceiling  there  was  a  pillar  of  flame.  Instantly  the 
place  was  turned  from  a  jolly  commencement 
scene,  in  which  beauty  and  learning  and  con- 
gratulation commingled,  into  a  raving  bedlam  of 
fright  and  uproar.  The  panic  of  the  previous 
Sunday  night  in  the  Academy  of  Music,  Brooklyn, 
had  schooled  me  for  the  occasion,  and  I  saw  at  a 
glance  that  when  the  Christmas  greens  were 
through  burning  all  would  be  well. 

One  of  the  professors  said  to  me,  "  You  seem 
to  be  the  only  composed  person  present."  I 
replied,  "  Yes,  I  got  prepared  for  this  by  some- 
thing which  I  saw  last  Sunday  in  Brooklyn." 

So  I  give  my  advice  :    On  occasions  of  panic, 


MY   RESIGNATION  293 

sit  still ;    in  999  cases  out  of  a  thousand  there  is 
nothing  the  matter. 

I  was  not  released  from  my  pastorate  of  the 
Brooklyn  Tabernacle  by  the  Brooklyn  Presbytery 
until  December,  1894,  after  my  return  from 
abroad.  Some  explanation  was  demanded  of  me 
by  members  of  the  Presbytery  for  my  decision 
to  relinquish  my  pastorate,  and  I  read  the  follow- 
ing statement  which  I  had  carefully  prepared. 
It  concerns  these  pages  because  it  is  explanatory 
of  the  causes  which  carried  me  over  many  cross- 
roads, encountered  everywhere  in  my  life  : 

"  To  the  Brooklyn  Presbytery — 

"  Dear  Brethren, — After  much  prayer  and 
solemn  consideration  I  apply  for  the  dissolution 
of  the  pastoral  relation  existing  between  the 
Brooklyn  Tabernacle  and  myself.  I  have  only 
one  reason  for  asking  this.  As  you  all  know,  we 
have,  during  my  pastorate,  built  three  large 
churches  and  they  have  been  destroyed.  If  I 
remain  pastor  we  must  undertake  the  superhuman 
work  of  building  a  fourth  church.  I  do  not  feel 
it  my  duty  to  lead  in  such  an  undertaking.  The 
plain  providential  indications  are  that  my  work 
in  the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle  is  concluded.  Let 
me  say,  however,  to  the  Presbytery,  that  I  do 
not  intend  to  go  into  idleness,  but  into  other 
service  quite  as  arduous  as  that  in  which  I  have 
been  engaged.  Expecting  that  my  request  will 
be  granted  I  take  this  opportunity  of  expressing 
my  love  for  all  the  brethren  in  the  Presbytery 
with  whom  I  have  been  so  long  and  so  pleasantly 
associated,  and  to  pray  for  them  and  the  churches 
they  represent  the  best  blessings  that  God  can 
bestow. — Yours  in  the  Gospel, 

"  T.  DeWitt  Talmage." 


294  THE   SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

The  following  resolution  was  then  offered  by 
the  Presbytery  as  follows  : 

"  Resolved — That  the  Presbytery,  while  yield- 
ing to  Dr.  Talmage's  earnest  petition  for  the  dis- 
solution of  the  relationship  existing  between  the 
Brooklyn  Tabernacle  and  himself,  expresses  its 
deep  regret  at  the  necessity  for  such  action,  and 
wishes  Dr.  Talmage  abundant  success  in  any  field 
in  which  in  the  providence  of  God  he  may  be 
called  to  labour.  Presbytery  also  expresses  its 
profound  sympathy  with  the  members  of  the 
Tabernacle  Church  in  the  loss  of  their  honoured 
and  loving  pastor,  and  cordially  commends  them 
to  go  forward  in  all  the  work  of  the  church." 

In  October,  1895,  I  accepted  the  call  of  the 
First  Presbyterian  Church  in  Washington.  My 
work  was  to  be  an  association  with  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Byron  W.  Sunderland,  the  President's  pastor. 
It  was  Dr.  Sunderland's  desire  that  I  should  do 
this,  and  although  there  had  been  some  intention 
in  Dr.  Sunderland's  mind  to  resign  his  pastorate 
on  account  of  ill-health  I  advocated  a  joint 
pastorate.  There  were  invitations  from  all  parts 
of  the  world  for  me  to  preach  at  this  time.  I  had 
calls  from  churches  in  Melbourne,  Australia ; 
Toronto,  Canada ;  San  Francisco,  California ; 
Louisville,  Kentucky ;  Chicago,  Illinois ;  New 
York  City  ;  Brooklyn,  N.Y.  London  had  pledged 
me  a  larger  edifice  than  Spurgeon's  Tabernacle. 
All  these  cities,  in  fact,  promised  to  build  big 
churches  for  me  if  I  would  go  there  to  preach. 

The  call  which  came  to  me  from  Washington 
was  as  follows  : 

"  Rev.  Dr.  T.  DeWitt  Talmage— 

"  The  congregation  of  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church,  of  Washington,  D.C.,  being  on  sufficient 
grounds  well   satisfied   of  the  ministerial  quali- 


MY    CALL    TO    WASHINGTON        295 

fications  of  you,  the  Rev.  Dr.  T.  DeWitt  Talmage, 
and  having  good  hopes  from  our  knowledge  of 
your  past  eminent  labours  that  your  ministra- 
tions in  the  Gospel  will  be  profitable  to  our 
spiritual  interests,  do  earnestly,  unanimously, 
harmoniously  and  heartily,  not  one  voice  dissent- 
ing, call  and  desire  you  to  undertake  the  office  of 
co-pastor  in  said  congregation,  promising  you  in 
the  discharge  of  your  duty  all  proper  support, 
encouragement  and  obedience  in  the  Lord.  And 
that  you  may  be  free  from  worldly  cares  and 
avocations,  considering  your  well  and  wide- 
known  ability  and  generosity,  we  do  not  assume 
to  specify  any  definite  sum  of  money  for  your 
recompense,  but  we  do  hereby  promise,  pledge 
and  oblige  ourselves,  to  pay  to  you  such  sums  of 
money  and  at  such  times  as  shall  be  mutually 
satisfactory  during  the  time  of  your  being  and 
remaining  in  the  relation  to  said  church  to  which 
we  do  hereby  call  you." 

On  September  23,  1895,  accompanying  this 
call,  I  received  the  following  dispatch  from  Dr. 
Sunderland: 

"  T.  D.  W.  Talmage,  1,  South  Oxford  Street. 

"  Meeting  unanimous  and  enthusiastic.  Call 
extended,  rising  vote,  all  on  their  feet  in  a  flash. 
Call  mailed  special  delivery. 

"  B.  Sunderland." 

On  September  26,  1895,  I  accepted  the  call  in 
the  following  letter  : 

"  The  call  signed  by  the  elders,  deacons, 
trustees,  and  members  of  the  congregation  of  the 
First  Presbyterian  Church  of  Washington  is 
before  me.  The  statement  contained  in  that  call 
that  you  'do  earnestly,  unanimously,  harmoniously 
and  heartily,  not  one  voice  dissenting,'  desire  me 
to  become  co-pastor  in  your  great  and  historical 


296  THE   SEVENTEENTH   MILESTONE 

church  has  distinctly  impressed  me.  With  the 
same  heartiness  I  now  declare  my  acceptance  of 
the  call.  All  of  my  energies  of  body,  mind,  and 
soul  shall  be  enlisted  in  your  Christian  service. 
I  will  preach  my  first  sermon  Sabbath  evening, 
October  27." 

Washington  was  always  a  beautiful  city  to  me, 
the  climate  in  winter  is  delightful.  President 
Cleveland  was  a  personal  friend,  as  were  many 
of  the  public  men,  and  I  regarded  my  call  to 
Washington  as  a  national  opportunity.  It  had 
been  my  custom  in  the  past,  when  I  was  very 
tired  from  overwork,  to  visit  Washington  for 
two  or  three  days,  stopping  at  one  of  the  hotels, 
to  get  a  thorough  rest.  For  a  long  time  I  was 
really  undecided  what  to  do,  I  had  so  many 
invitations  to  take  up  my  home  and  life  work 
in  different  cities.  While  preaching  was  to  be 
the  main  work  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  my  arrange- 
ments were  so  understood  by  my  church  in 
Washington  that  I  could  continue  my  lecture 
engagements. 

I  delivered  a  farewell  sermon  before  leaving 
for  Washington,  at  the  Lafayette  Avenue  Presby- 
terian Church,  in  Brooklyn,  before  an  audience 
of  five  thousand  people.  My  text  was  2  Samuel 
xii.  23  :    "I  shall  go  to  Him." 

I  still  recall  the  occasion  as  one  of  deep  feeling 
— a  difficult  hour  of  self-control.  I  could  not 
stop  the  flow  of  tears  that  came  with  the  closing 
paragraph.  The  words  are  merely  the  outward 
sign  of  my  inner  feelings  : 

"  Farewell,  dear  friends.  I  could  wish  that  in 
this  last  interview  I  might  find  you  all  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  the  Mighty.  Why  not  cross  the 
line  this  hour,  out  of  the  world  into  the  kingdom 
of  God  ?  I  have  lived  in  peace  with  all  of  you. 
There  is  not  among  all  the  hundreds  of  thousands 


THE    FIRST    PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH    OF    WASHINGT 
DR.    TALMAGE'S    LAST    CHARGE. 


A   FAREWELL   SERMON  297 

of  people  of  this  city  one  person  with  whom  I 
could  not  shake  hands  heartily  and  wish  him  all 
the  happiness  for  this  world  and  the  next.  If  I 
have  wronged  anyone  let  him  appear  at  the  close 
of  this  service,  and  I  will  ask  his  forgiveness 
before  I  go.  Will  it  not  be  glorious  to  meet  again 
in  our  Father's  house,  where  the  word  goodbye 
shall  never  be  spoken  ?  How  much  we  shall  then 
have  to  talk  over  of  earthly  vicissitudes  !  Fare- 
well !  A  hearty,  loving,  hopeful,  Christian  fare- 
well !  " 

I  was  installed  in  the  First  Presbyterian  Church 
in  Washington  on  October  23,  1895.  My  first 
sermon  in  the  new  pulpit  in  Washington  was 
preached  to  a  crowded  church,  with  an  overflow 
of  over  three  thousand  persons  in  the  street 
outside.  The  text  of  my  sermon  was,  "  All 
Heaven  is  looking  on." 

In  a  few  days,  by  exchange  of  my  Brooklyn 
property,  I  had  obtained  the  house  1402  Mass- 
achusetts Avenue,  in  Washington,  for  my  home. 
It  had  at  one  time  been  the  Spanish  Legation,  and 
was  in  a  delightful  part  of  the  city.  Shortly 
after  my  arrival  in  Washington  I  received  my 
first  introduction  at  the  White  House,  with  my 
daughters,  to  Mrs.  Cleveland.  Our  reception  was 
cordial  and  gracious  in  the  extreme.  I  had  en- 
gaged a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Arlington  Hotel  for 
a  year.  We  remained  there  till  our  lease  was  up 
before  entering  our  new  home.  There  was  a 
desire  among  members  of  the  congregation  of 
the  First  Presbyterian  Church  to  have  me 
preach  at  the  morning  as  well  as  the  evening 
services.  With  three  ministers  attached  to  one 
church  there  was  some  difficulty  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  sermons.  Eventually  it  was  decided 
that  I  should  preach  morning  and  evening. 

In  1896  I  made  an  extensive  lecturing  tour,  in 


298  THE   SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

which  I  discussed  my  impressions  of  the  world 
trip  I  had  recently  made. 

The  world  was  getting  better  in  spite  of  con- 
trasting opinions  from  men  who  had  thought 
about  it.     God  never  launched  a  failure. 

In  1897  I  made  an  appeal  for  aid  for  the  famine 
in  India.  I  always  believed  it  was  possible  to 
evangelise  India. 

My  life  in  Washington  was  not  different  from 
its  former  course.  I  had  known  many  prominent 
people  of  this  country,  and  some  of  the  great  men 
of  other  lands. 

I  had  known  all  the  Presidents  of  the  United 
States  since  Buchanan.  I  had  known  Mr. 
Gladstone,  all  the  more  prominent  men  in  the 
bishoprics,  and  in  high  commercial,  financial  and 
religious  position.  I  had  been  presented  to 
royalty  in  more  than  one  country. 

Legislatures  in  the  North  and  South  have 
adjourned  to  give  me  reception.  The  Earl  of 
Kintore,  a  Scottish  peer,  entertained  us  at  his 
house  in  London  in  1879.  I  found  his  family 
delightful  Christian  people,  and  the  Countess  and 
their  daughters  are  very  lovely.  The  Earl  presided 
at  two  of  my  meetings.  He  took  me  to  see  some  of 
his  midnight  charities — one  of  them  called  the 
"  House  of  Lords  "  and  the  other  the  "  House 
of  Commons,"  both  of  them  asylums  for  old  and 
helpless  men.  We  parted  about  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning  in  the  streets  of  London.  As  we 
bade  each  other  good-bye  he  said,  "  Send  me  a 
stick  of  American  wood  and  I  will  send  you  a 
stick."  His  arrived  in  America,  and  is  now  in 
my  possession,  a  shepherd's  crook  ;  but  before 
the  cane  I  purchased  for  him  reached  Scotland 
the  good  Earl  had  departed  this  life.  I  was  not 
surprised  to  hear  of  his  decease.  I  said  to  my 
wife  in  London,   "  We  will  never  see  the  Earl 


THE   EARL   OF   KINTORE  299 

again  in  this  world.  He  is  ripe  for  Heaven,  and 
will  soon  be  taken."  He  attended  the  House  of 
Lords  during  the  week,  and  almost  every  Sabbath 
preached  in  some  chapel  or  church. 

I  shall  not  forget  the  exciting  night  I  met  him. 
I  was  getting  out  of  a  carriage  at  the  door  of  a 
church  in  London  where  I  was  to  lecture  when 
a  ruffian  struck  at  me,  crying,  "  He  that  believeth 
not  shall  be  damned."  The  scoundrel's  blow 
would  have  demolished  me  but  for  the  fact  that 
a  bystander  put  out  his  arm  and  arrested  the 
blow.  From  that  scene  I  was  ushered  into  the 
ante-room  of  the  church  where  the  Earl  of 
Kintore  was  awaiting  my  arrival.  From  that 
hour  we  formed  a  friendship.  He  had  been  a 
continuous  reader  of  my  sermons,  and  that  fact 
made  an  introduction  easy.  I  have  from  him 
five  or  six  letters. 

Lord  and  Lady  Aberdeen  had  us  at  their  house 
in  London  in  the  summer  of  1892.  Most  gracious 
and  delightful  people  they  are.  I  was  to  speak 
at  Haddo  House,  their  estate  in  Scotland,  at  a 
great  philanthropic  meeting,  but  I  was  detained 
in  St.  Petersburg,  Russia,  by  an  invitation  of  the 
Emperor,  and  could  not  get  to  Scotland  in  time. 
Glad  am  I  that  the  Earl  is  coming  to  Canada  to 
be  Governor-General.  Lie  and  the  Countess  will 
do  Canada  a  mighty  good.  They  are  on  the  side 
of  God,  and  righteousness,  and  the  Church.  Since 
his  appointment — for  he  intimated  at  Aberdeen, 
Scotland,  when  he  called  upon  me,  that  he  was 
to  have  an  important  appointment — I  have  had 
opportunity  to  say  plauditory  things  of  them 
in  vast  assemblages  in  Ottawa,  Montreal,  Toronto, 
London  and  Grimsby  Park. 

In  a  scrap  book  in  which  I  put  down,  hurriedly, 
perhaps,  but  accurately,  my  impressions  of  various 
visits  to  the  White  House  during  my  four  years 


800  THE   SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

pastorate  in  Washington,  I  find  some  notes  that 
may  be  interesting.  I  transmit  them  to  the 
printed  page  exactly  as  I  find  them  written  on 
paper : 

"  May  1,  1896.  Had  a  long  talk  this  afternoon 
with  Mrs.  Cleveland  at  Woodley.  I  always  knew 
she  was  very  attractive,  but  never  knew  how  wide 
her  information  was  on  all  subjects.  She  had  her 
three  children  brought  in,  and  the  two  elder  ones 
sang  Easter  songs  for  me.  Mrs.  Cleveland  im- 
presses me  as  a  consecrated  Christian  mother. 
She  passes  much  of  her  time  with  her  children, 
and  seems  more  interested  in  her  family  than  in 
anything  else.  The  first  lady  of  the  land,  she 
is  universally  admired.  I  took  tea  with  her  and 
we  talked  over  many  subjects.  She  told  me  that 
she  had  joined  the  church  at  fourteen  years  of 
age.  Only  two  joined  the  church  that  day, 
a  man  of  eighty  years  old  and  herself.  She  was 
baptised  then,  not  having  been  baptised  in 
infancy.  She  said  she  was  glad  she  had  not  been 
baptised  before  because  she  preferred  to  remember 
her  baptism. 

"  She  said  she  did  not  like  the  great  crowds 
attending  the  church  then,  because  she  did  not 
like  to  be  stared  at  as  the  President's  wife.  But 
I  told  her  she  would  get  used  to  that  after  a  while. 
She  said  she  did  not  mind  being  stared  at  on 
secular  occasions,  but  objected  to  it  at  religious 
service.  She  said  she  had  long  ago  ceased  taking 
the  Holy  Communion  at  our  church  because  of  the 
fact  that  spectators  on  that  day  seemed  peculiarly 
anxious  to  see  how  she  looked  at  the  Communion. 

"  My  first  meeting  with  Mrs.  Cleveland  was 
just  after  her  marriage.  She  was  at  the  depot, 
in  her  carriage,  to  see  Miss  Rose  Cleveland,  the 
President's  sister,  off  on  the  train.  Dr.  Sunder- 
land introduced  me  at  that  time,  when  I  was  just 


MRS.  CLEVELAND  301 

visiting  Washington.  Mrs.  Cleveland  invited  me 
to  take  a  seat  in  her  carriage.  I  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  we  sat  there  some  time  talking 
about  various  things.  I  saw,  as  everyone  sees 
who  converses  with  her,  that  she  is  a  very  attrac- 
tive person,  though  brilliantly  attired,  unaffected 
in  her  manner  as  any  mountain  lass. 

"March  3,  1897.  Made  my  last  call  this  after- 
noon on  Mrs.  Cleveland.  Found  her  amid  a 
group  of  distinguished  ladies,  and  unhappy  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  the  White  House,  which  had 
been  her  home  off  and  on  for  nearly  eight  years. 
Her  children  have  already  gone  to  Princeton, 
which  is  to  be  her  new  home.  She  is  the  same  beau- 
tiful, unaffected,  and  intelligent  woman  that  she 
has  always  been  since  I  formed  her  acquaintance. 
She  is  an  inspiration  to  anyone  who  preaches, 
because  she  is  such  an  intense  listener.  Her 
going  from  our  church  here  will  be  a  great  loss. 
It  is  wonderful  that  a  woman  so  much  applauded 
and  admired  should  not  have  been  somewhat 
spoiled.  More  complimentary  things  have  been 
said  of  her  than  of  any  living  woman.  She  in- 
vited me  to  her  home  in  Princeton,  but  I  do  not 
expect  ever  to  get  there.  Our  pleasant  acquain- 
tance seems  to  have  come  to  an  end.  Washington 
society  will  miss  this  queen  of  amiability  and 
loveliness.  :^j 

"  February  4,  1897.  Had  one  of  my  talks  with 
President  Cleveland. 

66  As  I  congratulated  him  on  his  coming  relief 
from  the  duties  of  his  absorbing  office,  he  said  : 

"  '  Yes  !  I  am  glad  of  it ;  but  there  are  so 
many  things  I  wanted  to  accomplish  which  have 
not  been  accomplished.' 

"  Then  he  went  into  extended  remarks  about 
the  failure  of  the  Senate  to  ratify  the  Arbitration 
plan.     He  said  that  there  had  been  much  work 


802    THE   SEVENTEENTH   MILESTONE 

and  anxiety  in  that  movement  that  had  never 
come  to  the  surface  ;  how  they  had  waited  for 
cablegrams,  and  how  at  the  same  time,  although 
he  had  not  expressed  it,  he  had  a  presentiment 
that  through  the  inaction  of  the  Senate  the  splen- 
did plan  for  the  pacification  of  the  world's  con- 
troversies would  be  a  failure. 

"He  dwelt  much  upon  the  Cuban  embroglio, 
and  said  that  he  had  told  the  Committee  on 
Foreign  Relations  that  if  they  waited  until  spring 
they  had  better  declare  war,  but  that  he  would 
never  be  responsible  for  such  a  calamity. 

"  He  said  that  he  had  chosen  Princeton  for  his 
residence  because  he  would  find  there  less  social 
obligation  and  less  demand  upon  his  financial 
resources  than  in  a  larger  place.  He  said  that  in 
all  matters  of  national  as  well  as  individual  im- 
portance it  was  a  consolation  to  him  to  know 
that  there  was  an  overwhelming  Providence. 
When  I  congratulated  him  upon  his  continuous 
good  health,  notwithstanding  the  strain  upon  him 
for  the  eight  years  of  his  past  and  present  ad- 
ministration, he  said  : 

"  'Yes  !  I  am  a  wonder  to  myself.  The  gout 
that  used  to  distract  me  is  almost  cured,  and  I  am 
in  better  health  than  when  I  entered  office.' 

"  He  accounted  for  his  good  health  by  the  fact 
that  he  had  occasionally  taken  an  outing  of  a  few 
days  on  hunting  expeditions. 

"  I  said  to  him,  '  Yes  !  You  cannot  think  of 
matters  of  State  while  out  shooting  ducks.' 

"  He  answered  : 

"  '  No,  I  cannot,  except  when  the  hunting  is 
poor  and  the  ducks  do  not  appear.' 

"  May  21,  1896.  This  morning  when  I  entered 
President  Cleveland's  room  at  the  White  House, 
he  said  :  '  Good  morning,  I  have  been  thinking  of 
you  this  morning.' 


PRESIDENT   CLEVELAND  303 

"  The  fact  is  he  had  under  consideration  the 
recall  of  a  minister  plenipotentiary  from  a 
European  Government.  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
saying  something  about  a  gentleman  who  was 
proposed  as  a  substitute  for  the  foreign  embassy, 
and  the  President  said  my  conversation  with  him 
had  given  him  a  new  idea  about  the  whole  affair, 
and  I  think  it  kept  the  President  from  making  a 
mistake  that  might  have  involved  our  Govern- 
ment in  some  entanglement  with  another  nation. 

"  The  President  read  me  a  long  letter  that  he 
had  received  on  the  subject.  I  felt  that  my  call 
had  been  providential,  although  I  went  to  see  him 
merely  to  say  good-bye  before  he  went  away  on  his 
usual  summer  trip  to  Gray  Gables,  Buzzards  Bay, 
Massachusetts. 

"  The  President  is  in  excellent  health  although 
he  says  he  much  needs  an  outing.  He  is  very 
fond  of  his  children,  and  seemed  delighted  to  hear 
of  the  good  time  I  had  with  them  at  Woodley. 
When  I  told  how  Ruth  and  Esther  sang  for  me 
he  said  he  could  not  stand  hearing  them  sing,  as 
it  was  so  touching  it  made  him  cry.  I  told  him 
how  the  baby,  Marian,  looked  at  me  very  soberly 
and  scrutinisingly  as  long  as  I  held  her  in  my  arms, 
but  when  T  handed  her  to  her  mother,  the  baby, 
feeling  herself  very  safe,  put  out  her  hands  to  me 
and  wanted  to  play.  But  what  a  season  of  work 
and  anxiety  it  had  been  to  the  President,  im- 
portant question  after  question  to  be  settled. 

"  March  [1,  1897,  I  have  this  afternoon  made  my 
last  call  on  President  Cleveland.  With  Dr. 
Sunderland  and  the  officers  of  our  church  I  went 
to  the  White  House  to  bid  our  retiring  President 
goodbye.  Notwithstanding  appointments  he  had 
made,  Thurber,  his  private  secretary,  informed  us 
that  the  President  could  not  see  us  because  of  a 
sudden  attack  of  rheumatism.     But  after  Thurber 


304  THE   SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

had  gone  into  the  President's  room,  he  returned 
saying  that  the  President  would  see  Dr.  Sunder- 
land and  myself.  Indeed,  afterwards,  he  saw  all 
our  church  officers.  But  he  could  not  move  from 
his  chair.  His  doctor  had  told  him  that  if  he  put 
his  foot  to  the  floor  he  would  not  be  able  to  attend 
the  inauguration  of  Major  McKinley  on  the 
following  Thursday. 

"  After  Dr.  Sunderland  and  the  officers  of  the 
church  had  shaken  hands  for  departure,  the 
President  said  to  me  : 

"  '  Doctor,  remain,  I  want  to  see  you.' 

"  The  door  closed,  he  asked  me  if  I  had  followed 
the  Chinese  Immigration  Bill  that  was  then  under 
consideration.  We  discussed  it  fully.  The  Presi- 
dent read  to  me  the  veto  which  he  was  writing. 
He  stated  to  me  his  objection  to  the  bill.  Our 
conversation  was  intimate,  but  somewhat  sad- 
dened by  the  thought  that  perhaps  we  might  not 
meet  again.  With  an  invitation  to  come  and  see 
him  at  Princeton,  we  parted. 

"  During  a  conversation  of  an  earlier  period  at 
the  White  House,  I  congratulated  the  President 
upon  his  improved  appearance  since  returning 
from  one  of  his  hunting  expeditions. 

"  '  Oh  !  Yes  !  '  he  said,  c  I  cannot  get  daily 
exercise  in  Washington.  It  is  impossible,  so  I  am 
compelled  to  take  these  occasional  outings.  I 
approach  the  city  on  my  return  with  a  feeling  that 
work  must  be  pulled  down  over  me,  like  a  night- 
cap,' and  as  he  said  this  he  made  the  motion  as  of 
someone  putting  on  a  cap  over  his  head. 

"  I  congratulated  him  on  the  effect  of  his 
proclamation  on  the  Monroe  Doctrine  as  it  would 
set  a  precedent,  and  really  meant  peace.  He 
agreed  with  me,  saying  : 

"  '  Yes,  but  they  blame  me  very  much  for  the 
excitement  I  have  caused  in  business  circles,  and 


MONROE   DOCTRINE  305 

the  failures  consequent.  But  no  one  failed  who 
was  doing  a  legitimate  business,  only  those 
collapsed  who  were  engaged  in  unwarranted 
speculations.  I  wish  more  of  those  people  would 
fail.' 

"  •  Mr.  President,'  I  said,  '  I  do  not  want  to  pry 
into  State  secrets,  but  I  would  like  to  know  how 
many  ducks  you  did  shoot  ?  '  He  laughed,  and 
said,  '  Eleven.  The  papers  said  thirteen.  Indeed, 
the  country  papers  before  I  began  to  shoot  said  I 
had  shot  a  hundred  and  twenty.'  I  spoke  of  the 
brightness  and  beauty  of  his  children  again.  I 
remarked  that  the  youngest  one,  then  four  months 
old,  had  the  intelligence  of  a  child  a  year  old,  and 
the  President  said  : 

"  '  Yes,  she  is  a  great  pleasure  to  us,  and  seems 
to  know  everything.' 

"  March  3,  1896.  Started  from  Washington  for 
the  great  Home  Missionary  meeting  to  be  held  in 
Carnegie  Hall,  New  York,  President  Cleveland  to 
preside.  We  left  on  the  eleven  o'clock  train,  by 
Pennsylvania  railroad.  I  did  not  go  to  the  Presi- 
dent's private  car  until  we  had  been  some  distance 
on  our  way,  although  he  told  me  when  I  went  in 
that  he  had  looked  for  me  at  the  depot,  that  I 
might  as  well  have  been  in  his  car  all  the  way.  No 
one  was  with  him  except  Mrs.  Cleveland  and  his 
private  secretary,  Mr.  Thurber,  who  is  also 
one  of  my  church.  We  had  an  uninterrupted 
conversation.  The  servants  and  guards  were 
at  the  front  end  of  the  car,  and  we  were  at  the 
rear. 

"  I  asked  the  President  if  he  found  it  possible 
to  throw  off  the  cares  of  office  for  a  while.  He 
laughed,  and  said  : 

u  '  They  call  a  trip  of  this  kind  a  vacation;' 
then  with  a  countenance  of  sudden  gravity  he 
added:   '  We  no   sooner  get   through   one  great 


306  THE   SEVENTEENTH   MILESTONE 

question  than  another  comes.'  It  made  me  think 
of  the  tension  on  the  President's  mind  at  that 
time.  There  was  the  Venezuelan  question.  There 
were  suggestions  of  war  with  England,  and  then 
there  was  the  Cuban  matter  with  suggestions  of 
war  with  Spain,  and  all  the  time  the  over- 
shadowing financial  questions. 

"  During  our  conversation  the  President  re- 
ferred to  the  conditions  ever  and  anon  inflicted 
upon  him  by  newspaper  misrepresentations,  par- 
ticularly those  of  inebriety,  of  domestic  quarrels, 
of  turning  Mrs.  Cleveland  out  of  doors  at  night 
so  that  she  had  to  flee  for  refuge  to  the  house  of 
Dr.  Sunderland,  my  pastoral  associate,  passing 
the  night  there  ;  and  then  the  reports  that  his 
children  were  deaf  and  dumb,  or  imbecile,  when 
he  knew  I  had  seen  them  and  considered  them 
the  brightest  and  healthiest  children  I  had  known. 

"  All  these  attacks  and  falsehoods  concerning 
the  President  and  his  family  I  saw  hurt  him 
as  deeply  as  they  would  any  of  us,  but  he  is  in 
a  position  which  does  not  allow  him  to  make 
reply.  I  assured  him  that  he  was  only  in  the  line 
of  misrepresentation  that  had  assailed  all  the 
Presidents,  George  Washington  more  violently 
than  himself,  and  that  the  words  cynicism, 
jealousy,  political  hatred,  and  diabolism  in  general 
would  account  for  all.  I  do  think,  however, 
that  the  factories  of  scandal  had  been  particularly 
busy  with  our  beloved  President.  They  were 
running  on  extra  time. 

"If  I  were  asked  who  among  the  mighty 
men  at  Washington  has  most  impressed  me 
with  elements  of  power  I  would  say  Grover 
Cleveland. 

"  June  25,  1896.  It  seems  now  that  Major 
McKinley,  of  Canton,  Ohio,  will  be  elected  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.    I  was  in  Canton  about 


MAJOR  McKINLEY  307 

three  weeks  ago  and  called  at  Major  McKinley 's 
house.  He  was  just  starting  from  his  home  to  call 
on  me.  He  presided  at  the  first  lecture  I  delivered 
at  Canton  in  1871.  On  my  recent  visit  he  recalled 
all  the  circumstances  of  that  lecture,  remembering 
that  he  went  to  my  room  afterwards  in  the  hotel, 
and  had  a  long  talk  with  me,  which  he  said  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  him. 

"  My  visit  at  Canton  three  weeks  ago  was  to 
lecture.  Major  McKinley  attended  and  came 
upon  the  platform  afterwards  to  congratulate  me. 
He  is  a  Christian  man  and  as  genial  and  lovable 
a  man  as  I  ever  met." 

"  September  21,  1897.  Had  a  most  delightful 
interview  with  President  McKinley  in  the  White 
House. 

"  I  congratulated  him  on  the  peaceful  opening 
of  his  administration.     He  said  : 

"  '  Yes  !  I  hope  it  is  not  the  calm  before  a 
storm.' 

"  He  said  that  during  the  last  six  weeks  at 
least  a  half  million  of  people  had  passed  before 
him,  and  they  all  gave  signs  of  their  encourage- 
ment. Especially,  he  said,  the  women  and 
children  looked  and  acted  as  though  they  ex- 
pected better  times. 

1  The  President  looked  uncommonly  well.  I 
told  him  that  during  the  past  summer  I  had 
travelled  in  many  of  the  states,  and  that  from  the 
people  everywhere  I  gathered  hopeful  feelings. 
I  told  him  that  they  were  expecting  great  pros- 
perity would  come  to  the  country  through  his 
administration." 

Of  course  these  are  merely  scraps  torn  from 
old  note-books,  but  I  cannot  help  commending 
the  value  of  first  impressions,  of  the  first-hand 
reports,  which  are  made  in  this  way.  There  is 
m  the  unadorned  picture  of  any  incident  in  the 


308  THE  SEVENTEENTH  MILESTONE 

past  a  sort  of  hallowed  character  that  no  ornate 
frame  can  improve. 

So  the  pages  of  these  recollections  are  but  a 
string  of  impressions  torn  from  old  note-books 
and  diaries. 


From  scrap  books  and  other  sources,  some  other 
person  may  set  up  the  last  milestones  of  my 
journey  through  life,  and  think  other  things  of 
enough  importance  to  add  to  the  furlongs  I  have 
already  travelled  ;  and  I  give  permission  to  add 
that  biography  to  this  autobiography. 


A^^CL     y^^--^^i_ 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  OF  DR. 
TALMAGE'S   LAST  MILESTONES 

BY 

Mrs.  T.  DeWitt  Talma ge 
1898—1902 


THE  LAST   MILESTONES 

BY 

Mrs.  T.  DeWitt  Talmage 
1898—1902 

The  wishes  of  Doctor  Talmage  reign  paramount 
with  me  ;  otherwise  I  should  not  dare  to  add 
these  imperfect  memoirs  to  the  finished  and  elo- 
quent, yet  simple,  narration  of  his  life-work  which 
has  just  charmed  the  reader  from  his  own  graphic 
pen.  Dr.  Talmage  did  not  consider  his  auto- 
biography of  vital  importance  to  posterity  ;  his 
chief  concern  was  for  his  sermons  and  other 
voluminous  writings.  The  intimate  things  of  his 
life  he  held  too  sacred  for  public  view,  and  he 
shrank  from  any  intrusion  thereupon.  His  auto- 
biography, therefore,  was  a  concession  to  his 
family,  his  friends,  and  an  admiring  public. 

So  many  people  all  over  the  world  have  paid 
homage  to  his  personality,  and  to  his  remarkable 
influence,  that  it  seemed  evident  not  only  to  us 
but  to  many  others,  that  his  own  recollections 
would  give  abiding  pleasure.  I  remember  when 
we  were  travelling  to  Washington  after  our  mar- 
riage, many  men  of  prominence,  who  were  on  the 
Congressional  Limited,  said  to  Dr.  Talmage  : 
"  Doctor,  why  don't  you  write  your  memoirs  ? 
They  would  be  especially  interesting  because  you 


312  THE    LAST    MILESTONES 

have  bridged  two  centuries  in  your  life."  Then, 
turning  to  me,  they  urged  me  to  use  my  influence 
over  him.  Later  on  I  did  so,  placing  over  his  desk 
as  a  reminder,  in  big  letters,  the  one  word — 
"  Autobiography." 

His  celebrity  was  something  so  unique,  and  so 
widespread,  that  it  is  difficult  to  write  of  it  under 
the  spell  which  still  surrounds  his  memory.  Many 
still  remember  seeing  and  feeling  almost  with  awe 
the  tremendous  grasp  of  success  which  Dr. 
Talmage  had  all  his  life.  A  reminiscence  of  my 
girlhood  will  be  pardoned  :  My  father  was  his 
great  admirer  many  years  before  I  ever  met  the 
Doctor.  Whenever  I  went  with  my  father  from 
my  home  in  Pittsburg  on  a  visit  to  New  York, 
I  was  taken  over  to  Brooklyn  every  Sunday 
morning,  unwillingly  I  must  confess,  to  hear  Dr. 
Talmage.  At  that  time  there  were  other  things 
which  I  found  more  pleasant,  for  I  had  many 
young  friends  to  visit  and  to  entertain.  However, 
my  father's  wishes  were  always  uppermost  with 
me,  and  his  admiration  of  the  great  preacher 
inspired  me  also  with  reverence.  The  Doctor 
soon  became  one  of  the  great  men  of  my  life. 

Dr.  Talmage  was  among  the  builders  of  his 
century — a  watchman  of  his  period.  He  was  a 
man  of  philanthropy  and  enterprise.  His  popu- 
larity was  world-wide  ;  his  extraordinary  power 
was  exerted  over  people  of  all  classes  and  con- 
ditions of  life.  His  broad  human  intellectuality, 
his  constant  good  humour,  his  indomitable  energy, 
threw  a  glamour  about  him.  His  happy  laughter, 
which  attested  the  deep  peace  of  his  heart,  rang 
everywhere,  through  his  home,  in  social  meetings 
with  his  friends,  in  casual  encounters  even  with 
strangers. 

No  one  who  ever  knew  the  Doctor  thought  of 
him  as  an  old  man.    He  himself  almost  believed 


DR.  AND  MRS.  T.  DK  WITT  TALMAGE. 


HIS  MAGNETIC  INFLUENCE;        313 

that  he  would  live  for  ever.  "  Barring  an  acci- 
dent," he  often  said,  "  I  shall  live  for  ever."  The 
frankness  and  buoyancy  of  his  spirit  were  like 
youth  :  were  the  enchantment  of  his  personality. 
Even  to-day,  when  memories  begin  to  grow  cold 
in  the  shadow  of  his  tomb,  I  am  constantly 
reminded  by  those  who  remember  him  of  the 
strange  magical  eternity  that  was  in  him.  He 
had  been  so  active  and  busy  through  all  the  years 
of  his  life,  keeping  pace  with  each  one  in  its 
seemingly  increasing  speed,  that  his  heart  re- 
mained ever  young,  living  in  the  glory  of  things 
that  were  present,  searching  with  eager  vigour 
the  horizon  of  the  future. 

Wherever  I  am,  whether  in  this  country  or  in 
Europe,  but  especially  in  England,  Dr.  Talmage's 
name  still  brings  me  remembrance  of  his  dis- 
tinguished career  from  the  men  of  prominence 
who  knew  him.  They  come  to  me  and  tell  me 
about  him  with  unabated  affection  for  his  mem- 
ory. He  attracted  people  by  a  kind  of  magnetism, 
and  held  them  afterwards  with  ties  of  deep 
friendship  and  respect.  The  standards  of  his 
youth  were  the  standards  of  his  whole  life. 

My  appreciation  of  Dr.  Talmage  in  these 
printed  pages  may  not  be  wholly  in  harmony  with 
his  ideas  of  the  privacy  of  his  home  life  ;  but  it 
is  difficult  to  think  of  him  at  all  in  any  mood  less 
intimately  reverent. 

As  I  look  over  the  scrapbook,  my  scrapbook  (as 
he  and  I  always  called  it),  I  feel  the  reserve  about 
it  that  he  himself  did.  My  share  in  the  Doctor's 
life,  however,  belongs  to  these  last  years  of  his 
distinguished  career,  and  I  am  a  contributor  by 
special  privilege. 

I  met  him  first  at  East  Hampton,  Long  Island, 
in  the  summer  of  1896,  when  I  was  visiting  friends. 
The  other  day,  while  in  reminiscent  struggle  with 


314  THE    LAST    MILESTONES 

my  scrapbook,  I  was  visited  by  an  old  friend  of 
Dr.  Talmage,  who  recalled  the  following  incident  : 

"  It  was  Dr.  Talmage' s  custom,"  he  said,  "  to 
take  long  drives  out  into  the  country  round  about 
Washington.  Sometimes  he  sent  for  me  to  drive 
with  him.  One  afternoon  I  received  a  specially 
urgent  call  to  be  sure  and  drive  with  him  that 
day,  because  he  had  something  of  great  import- 
ance to  discuss  with  me.  On  our  way  back, 
towards  evening,  I  asked  him  what  it  was.  He 
said,  '  I  work  hard,  very  hard.  Sometimes  I 
come  back  to  my  home  tired,  very  tired — lonely. 
I  open  my  door  and  the  house  is  dark,  silent.  The 
young  folks  are  out  somewhere  and  there  is  no 
one  to  talk  to.'  Then  he  became  silent  himself. 
I  said  to  him  :  '  Have  you  any  one  in  mind  whom 
you  would  like  to  talk  to  ?  '  c  I  have,'  he  said 
positively.  '  If  so,'  I  said,  c  go  to  her  at  once  and 
tell  her  so.'  c  I  will,'  he  replied  briskly — and  the 
next  night  he  went  to  Pittsburg." 

We  were  married  in  January,  1898. 

The  first  reception  given  in  our  home  on 
Massachusetts  Avenue  was  in  the  nature  of  a 
greeting  between  the  Doctor's  friends  and  myself. 
His  own  interest  in  the  social  side  of  things  in 
Washington  was  an  agreeable  interruption  rather 
than  a  part  of  his  own  activities.  His  friends 
were  men  and  women  from  every  highway  and 
byway  of  the  world.  My  father,  a  man  of  unusual 
intellectual  breadth  and  heart,  had  been  my  com- 
panion of  many  years,  so  that  I  was,  to  some 
degree,  accustomed  to  mature  conceptions  of 
people  and  affairs.  But  the  busy  whirl  in  the  life 
of  a  celebrity  was  entirely  new. 

It  was  soon  quite  evident  that  Dr.  Talmage 
relied  upon  me  for  the  discretionary  duties  of  a 
man  besieged  by  all  sorts  of  demands.  From  the 
first  I  feared  that  Dr.  Talmage  was  over-taxing 


GOSPEL  OF  CHEERFULNESS         315 

his  strength,  undiminished  though  it  was  at  a 
time  when  most  men  begin  to  relinquish  their 
burdens.  Therefore,  I  entered  eagerly  into  my 
new  duties  of  relieving  the  strain  he  himself  did 
not  realise. 

His  was  a  full  and  ample  life  devoted  to  the 
gospel  of  cheerfulness  ;  and  to  me,  I  think,  was 
given  the  best  part  of  it — the  autumn.  When  I 
knew  him  he  had  already  impressed  the  wide 
world  of  his  hearers  with  his  striking  originality 
of  thought  and  style.  He  had  already  established 
a  form  of  preaching  that  was  known  by  his 
name — Talmagic.  Its  character  was  the  man 
himself,  broad,  brilliant,  picturesque,  keen  with 
divine  and  human  facts,  told  simply,  always  with 
an  uplift  of  spiritual  beauty. 

In  March,  1898,  Dr.  Talmage  was  called  West 
for  lecture  engagements,  and  I  went  with  him. 
What  strange  and  delightful  events  that  spring 
tour  brought  into  my  life!  The  Doctor  lectured 
every  night  in  what  was  to  me  some  new  and  un- 
discovered country.  We  were  always  going  to 
an  hotel,  to  a  train,  to  an  opera  house,  to  another 
hotel,  another  train,  another  opera  house.  Our 
experiences  were  not  less  exciting  than  the  trials 
of  one-night  stands.  I  had  never  travelled  before 
without  a  civilised  quota  of  trunks  ;  but  the 
Doctor  would  have  been  overwhelmed  with  them 
in  the  rush  to  keep  his  engagements.  So  we  had 
to  be  content  with  our  bags.  When  we  were  not 
studying  time  tables  the  Doctor  was  striding 
across  the  land,  his  Bible  under  his  arm,  myself 
in  gasping  haste  at  his  side.  What  primitive 
hotels  we  encountered  ;  what  antiquated  trains 
we  had  to  take  !  Frequently  a  milk  train  was  the 
only  means  of  reaching  our  destination,  and, 
alas  !  a  milk  train  always  leaves  at  the  trying 
hour  of  4  a.m.    Once  we  had  to  ride  on  a  special 


316  THE    LAST    MILESTONES 

engine  ;  and  frequently  the  caboose  of  a  freight 
train  served  our  desperate  purpose.  I  began  to 
understand  something  of  the  loneliness  of  the 
Doctor's  life  in  experiences  like  these. 

I  insisted  upon  sitting  in  the  front  row  at  every 
one  of  Dr.  Talmage's  lectures,  which  I  soon  knew 
by  heart.  He  used  to  laugh  when  I  would  repeat 
certain  parts    of  them  to  him. 

Then  he  would  beg  me  to  stay  away  that  I 
might  not  be  bored  by  listening  to  the  same  thing 
over  again.  I  would  not  have  missed  one  of  his 
lectures  for  the  world.  These  were  the  great 
moments  of  his  life  ;  the  combined  resources  of 
his  character  came  to  the  surface  whenever  he 
went  into  the  pulpit  or  on  to  the  platform.  These 
were  the  moments  that  inspired  his  life,  that  gave 
it  an  ever-increasing  vigour  of  human  and  divine 
perception.  The  enthusiasm  of  his  reception  by 
the  crowds  in  these  theatres  keyed  me  up  so  that 
each  new  audience  was  a  new  pleasure.  There 
were  no  preliminaries  to  his  lectures.  Frequently 
he  had  time  only  to  drop  his  hat  and  step  on  to 
the  stage  as  he  had  come  from  the  train.  After 
every  lecture  it  was  his  custom  to  shake  hands 
with  hundreds  of  people  who  came  up  to  the  plat- 
form. This  was  very  exhausting,  but  these  were 
to  him  the  moments  of  fruition — the  spiritual 
harvest  of  the  Christian  seeds  he  had  scattered 
over  the  earth.  They  were  wonderful  scenes, 
dramatic  in  their  earnestness,  remarkable  in  the 
evidence  they  brought  out  of  his  universal 
influence  upon  the  hearts  of  men  and  women. 
Everywhere  the  same  testimony  prevailed  : 

"  You  saved  my  father,  God  bless  you  !  " 
"  You  saved  my  brother,  thank  God  !  "  "  You 
made  a  good  woman  of  me  !  "  "  You  gave  me 
my  first  start  in  life  !  "  In  these  words  they  told 
him  their  gratitude,  as  they  grasped  his  hand. 

On    these    occasions    the    Doctor's    face    was 


HIS  SPIRITUAL  HARVEST  317 

wonderful  to  see  as,  with  the  silent  pressure  of 
his  hand,  he  looked  into  the  eyes  that  were  filled 
with  tears.  Sometimes  people  would  come  to  me 
and  whisper  the  same  truths  about  him,  and  when 
I  would  tell  him,  his  answer  was  characteristic  : 
"  Eleanor,  this  is  what  gives  me  strength.  It  is 
worth  living  to  hear  people  tell  me  these  things." 

Dr.  Talmage's  instincts  were  big,  evangelical 
impulses.  I  often  used  to  urge  him  to  relinquish 
his  pastorate  ;  but  he  would  reply  that  after  all 
the  Church  was  his  candlestick ;  that  he  must  have 
a  place  to  hold  his  candle  while  he  preached  to  a 
world  of  all  nations.  Yet  he  often  said  he  would 
rather  have  been  an  unfettered  evangelist,  bent 
on  saving  the  world,  than  the  pastor  of  any  one 
flock  or  church.  To  preach  to  the  people  was  the 
breath  of  his  life.  It  was  the  restless  energy  of  his 
soul  that  kept  him  for  ever  young.  He  would  put 
all  his  strength  into  every  sermon  he  preached, 
and  every  lecture  he  delivered. 

Dr.  Talmage  had  absolutely  no  personal  vanity. 
He  was  a  man  absorbed  in  ideas,  indifferent  to 
appearances.  He  lived  in  the  opportunities  of  his 
heart  and  mind  to  help  others  ;  although  he  had 
been  one  of  the  most  tried  of  men,  he  had  never 
spared  himself  to  help  others.  He  never  lost 
faith  in  anyone.  There  were  many  shrewd 
enough  to  realise  this  characteristic  in  him,  who 
would  put  a  finger  on  his  heart  and  draw  out  of 
him  all  he  had  to  give. 

On  one  occasion  we  were  travelling  through 
Iowa,  when  a  big  snow  storm  made  it  evident 
that  we  could  not  make  connections  to  meet  an 
engagement  he  had  made  to  lecture  that  evening  in 
Marietta,  Ohio.  He  had  just  said  to  me  that  after 
all  he  was  glad,  because  he  was  very  tired  and 
needed  the  rest.  Will  Carleton  was  on  the  same 
train,  bound  for  Zanesville,  Ohio,  to  give  a  lecture 


318  THE  LAST    MILESTONES 

that  night.  He  was  very  much  afraid  that  he, 
too,  would  miss  his  engagement.  He  asked  the 
Doctor  to  telegraph  to  the  railroad  officials  to 
hold  the  limited  at  Chicago  Junction,  which  the 
Doctor  did.  The  result  was  that  we  were  whisked 
in  a  carriage  across  Chicago  and  whirled  on  a 
special  car  to  the  junction,  where  the  limited  was 
held  for  us,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  other 
passengers. 

He  saw  the  mercy  of  God  in  every  calamity, 
the  beauty  of  faith  in  Him  in  every  mood  of 
earth  or  sky.  One  spring  day  we  were  sitting  in 
the  room  of  a  friend's  house.  There  were  flowers 
in  the  room,  and  Dr.  Talmage  loved  these  children 
of  nature.  He  always  said  that  flowers  were 
appropriate  for  all  occasions.  Some  one  said  to 
him,  "  Doctor,  how  have  you  kept  your  faith  in 
people,  your  sweet  interpretation  of  human 
nature,  in  spite  of  the  injustice  you  have  sometimes 
been  shown  ?  ':  Looking  at  a  great  bunch  of 
sweet  peas  on  the  table,  he  said  :  "  Many  years 
ago  I  learned  not  to  care  what  the  world  said  of 
me  so  long  as  I  myself  knew  I  was  right  and  fair, 
and  how  can  one  help  but  believe  when  the  good 
God  above  us  makes  such  beautiful  things  as 
these  flowers  ?  " 

His  creed,  as  I  learned  it,  was  perfect  faith,  and 
the  universal  commands  of  human  nature  to  live 
and  let  live.  Although  I  was  destined  to  share  less 
than  five  years  of  his  life,  there  was  in  the  whole  of 
it  no  chapter  or  incident  with  which  he  did  not 
acquaint  me.  He  was  not  a  man  of  theory.  No 
one  could  live  near  him  without  awe  of  his 
genius. 

We  returned  to  Washington  after  this  spring 
lecturing  tour,  where  the  Doctor  resumed  his 
preaching  twice  on  Sunday,  and  his  mid-week 
lecture,  till  June.  Then,  according  to  Dr.  Talmage's 


SUMMER  VACATION  319 

custom,  we  went  to  Saratoga  for  a  few  weeks 
before  the  crowds  came  for  the  season.  The 
Doctor  found  the  Saratoga  Springs  beneficial  and 
made  it  a  rule  to  go  there  for  a  time  each  summer. 
On  July  3,  1898,  we  started  for  the  Pacific  coast 
on  what  Dr.  Talmage  called  a  summer  vacation. 
On  his  desk  there  was  always  a  great  number  of 
invitations  to  preach  and  lecture  awaiting  his 
acknowledgment  or  refusal.  The  greatest  problem 
of  the  last  years  of  his  life  was  how  to  find  time 
for  all  the  things  he  was  asked  to  do  and  wanted 
to  do.  In  vain  I  tried  to  make  him  conform  to  the 
usual  plans  of  a  summer  outing.  He  asked  me  if 
he  might  take  a  "  few  lectures  "  on  our  route  to 
California,  and  he  did,  but  he  always  managed  to 
slip  in  a  few  extra  ones  without  my  knowledge. 
When  I  would  protest  about  these  additional 
engagements  he  would  say  that  the  people  wanted 
to  hear  him,  that  they  were  new  people  he  had  never 
seen,  which  meant  more  to  him  than  anything  else ; 
then,  of  course,  I  had  to  yield  my  judgment. 

It  had  been  Dr.  Tannage's  original  plan  to  go 
to  Europe  during  this  first  summer  of  our  marriage, 
but  the  outbreak  of  the  Spanish  war  made  him 
afraid  he  might  not  be  able  to  get  back  in  time 
for  his  church  work  in  October.  Although  os- 
tensibly this  was  a  vacation  trip,  it  was  so  only 
in  the  spirit  and  gaiety  of  the  Doctor's  moods. 
Three  times  a  week  Dr.  Talmage  lectured,  and 
preached  once,  sometimes  twice,  every  Sunday. 
From  Cincinnati  westward  to  Denver,  we  zig- 
zagged over  the  country,  keeping  in  constant 
pursuit  of  the  Doctor's  engagements.  No  argu- 
ment on  our  part  could  alter  these  working  plans 
which  my  husband  had  made  before  we  left 
Washington.  He  was  so  happy,  however,  in  the 
midst  of  his  energies,  that  we  forgot  the  exertion 
of  his  labours. 


320  THE    LAST    MILESTONES 

The  three  places  where,  by  agreeable  lapses, 
Dr.  Talmage  really  enjoyed  a  rest,  were  Colorado 
Springs,  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  Coronado 
Beach  in  California.  Aside  from  these  points,  we 
were  travelling  incessantly  in  the  Doctor's  re- 
flected glory,  which  was  our  vacation,  but  by  no 
means  his.  While  at  Colorado  Springs,  where  we 
stayed  two  weeks,  Dr.  Talmage  preached  once, 
and  once  in  Denver,  but  he  did  not  lecture. 

In  Salt  Lake  City  the  Doctor  preached  in  the 
Tabernacle,  the  throne  room  of  polygamy,  that 
he  had  so  often  attacked  in  previous  years. 
That  was  a  remarkable  feature  of  these  last 
milestones  of  his  life,  that  all  conflicts  were 
forgotten  in  a  universal  acknowledgment  of  his 
evangelism.  His  grasp  of  every  subject  was 
always  close  to  the  hearts  of  others,  and  it  was 
instinctive,  not  studied. 

During  our  visit  in  the  West,  he  talked  much  of 
the  effect  of  the  Spanish  war,  regarding  our 
victory  in  Cuba  and  the  Philippines  as  an  advance 
to  civilisation. 

We  entered  the  Yellowstone  Park  at  Minado 
and  drove  through  the  geyser  country.  We 
stopped  at  Dwelly's,  a  little  log-cabin  famous  to 
all  travellers,  just  before  entering  the  park.  On 
leaving  there,  we  had  been  told  that  there  were 
occasional  hold-ups  of  parties  travelling  in  private 
vehicles,  as  we  were.  The  following  day,  while 
passing  along  a  lonely  road,  a  man  suddenly 
leaped  from  the  bushes  and  seized  the  bridles  of 
the  horses.  The  Doctor  appeared  to  be  terribly 
frightened,  and  we  were  all  very  much  excited 
when  we  saw  that  the  driver  had  missed  his  aim 
when  he  fired  at  the  bandit.  The  robber  was  of  the 
appearance  approved  in  dime  novels  ;  he  wore  a 
sacking  over  his  head  with  eye-holes  cut  in  it 
through  which  he  could  see,   and  looked  in  all 


GOLD  DIGGERS  FROM  KLONDIKE  321 

other  respects  a  disreputable  cut-throat.  Just  as 
we  were  about  to  surrender  our  jewels  and  money, 
Dr.  Talmage  confessed  that  he  had  arranged  the 
hold-up  for  our  benefit,  and  that  it  was  a  practical 
joke  of  his.  He  was  always  full  of  mischief,  and 
took  delight  in  surprising  people. 

On  Sunday  Dr.  Talmage  preached  in  the  parlours 
of  the  Fountain  Hotel.  The  rooms  were  crowded 
with  the  soldiers  who  were  stationed  in  the  park. 
The  Doctor's  sermon  was  on  garrison  duty  ;  he 
said  afterwards  that  he  found  it  extremely  diffi- 
cult to  talk  there  because  the  rooms  were  small, 
and  the  people  were  too  close  to  him.  We  paid 
a  visit  to  Mr.  Henderson,  who  was  an  official  of 
the  Yellowstone  Park  at  that  time,  and  whose 
brother  was  Speaker  of  the  House  in  Washington. 
He  begged  Dr.  Talmage  to  use  his  influence  with 
members  of  Congress  to  oppose  a  project  which 
had  been  started,  to  build  a  trolley  line  through 
the  Yellowstone  Park.  The  Doctor  promised  to 
do  so,  and  I  think  the  trolley  line  has  not  been 
built.  We  left  the  Yellowstone  Park,  at  Cinabar, 
and  went  direct  to  Seattle.  During  our  stay  in 
Seattle  the  whole  town  was  excited  one  morning 
by  the  arrival  of  a  ship  from  the  Klondike,  that 
region  of  golden  romance  and  painful  reality. 
The  Doctor  and  I  went  down  to  the  wharf  to  see 
the  great  ship  disembark  these  gold-diggers  ;  but 
for  several  hours  the  four  hundred  passengers 
had  been  detained  on  board  because  $24,000  in 
gold  dust,  carried  by  two  miners,  had  been 
stolen  ;  and  though  a  search  had  been  instituted, 
to  which  everyone  had  been  compelled  to  submit, 
no  clue  to  the  thief  had  been  found.  Dr.  Talmage 
was  profoundly  impressed  by  the  misfortune  of 
these  two  men,  who  after  months  of  exposure  and 
fatigue  were  now  obliged  to  walk  ashore  penniless. 
A  number  of  these  four  hundred  passengers  had 


322  THE    FIRST    MILESTONE 

brought  back  an  aggregate  of  about  $4,000,000 
from  the  Klondike;  but  many  among  them  had 
brought  back  only  disappointment,  and  their 
haggard  faces  were  pitiful  to  see  ;  indeed,  the 
Doctor  told  me  that  out  of  the  thousands  who 
went  fortune  hunting  to  Alaska,  only  about  3  per 
cent,  came  back  richer  than  when  they  started. 

In  the  early  part  of  September  Dr.  Talmage 
lectured  in  San  Francisco  on  International  Policies. 
His  admiration  of  the  Czar's  manifesto  for  dis- 
armament of  the  nations  was  unbounded,  and  he 
emphasised  it  whenever  he  appeared  in  public. 
He  prophesied  the  millennium  as  if  he  looked 
forward  to  personal  experiences  of  it ;  this  came 
from  his  remarkable  confidence  in  the  life  forces 
nature  had  given  him.  At  Coronado  Beach  we 
determined  upon  a  rest  for  two  weeks  ;  but  the 
Doctor  could  in  no  wise  be  induced  to  forego  his 
lecture  at  San  Diego.  A  pleasant  visit  to  Los 
Angeles  was  followed  by  a  delightful  sojourn  of  a 
few  days  at  Santa  Barbara,  the  floral  paradise  of 
the  Golden  Coast ;  here  the  Doctor  was  met  at 
the  station  by  carriages,  and  we  were  literally 
smothered  in  flowers  ;  even  our  rooms  in  the  hotel 
were  banked  high  with  roses.  In  the  afternoon 
we  accepted  an  invitation  to  drive  through  Santa 
Barbara,  hoping  against  hope  that  we  might  do 
so  inconspicuously.  But  the  same  flower-laden 
carriages  came  for  us,  and  we  were  driven  through 
the  city  like  a  miniature  flower  parade.  Much  to 
the  Doctor's  regret  he  was  followed  about  like  a 
circus  ;  but  his  courtesy  never  failed. 

On  our  route  East  we  again  stopped  in  San 
Francisco.  An  announcement  had  been  made 
that  Dr.  Talmage  would  preach  for  the  Sunday 
evening  service  at  Calvary  Presbyterian  Church, 
on  the  corner  of  Powell  and  Geary  Streets.  Never 
had  I  seen  such  a  crowd  before.    As  we  made  our 


QUALITY  OF  HIS  APPRECIATION    323 

way  to  the  church,  we  found  the  adjoining  streets 
packed  so  solidly  with  people  that  we  had  to  call 
a  policeman  to  make  an  opening  for  us.  Once 
inside,  we  saw  the  church  rapidly  filling,  till  at 
last,  as  a  means  of  protection,  the  doors  were 
locked  against  the  surging  crowd.  But  Dr. 
Talmage  had  scarcely  begun  his  sermon  when  the 
doors  were  literally  broken  down  by  the  crowd 
outside.  Quick  to  see  the  danger  the  Doctor  sent 
out  word  to  the  people  that  he  would  speak  in 
Union  Square  immediately  after  the  church 
service.  This  had  the  desired  effect,  and  the  great 
crowd  waited  patiently  for  him  a  block  away  till 
nine  o'clock.  It  was  rather  a  raw  evening  because 
of  a  fog  that  had  come  up  from  the  sea,  and  for 
this  reason  the  Doctor  asked  permission  to  keep 
his  hat  on  while  he  talked  from  the  band  stand. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  him  speak  out 
of  doors,  and  I  was  amazed  to  hear  how  clearly 
every  word  travelled,  and  with  what  precision 
his  voice  carried  the  exact  effect.  It  was  a  coinci- 
dence that  the  theme  of  his  sermon  should  have 
been,  "  There  is  plenty  of  room  in  Heaven." 

The  tremendous  enthusiasm,  the  almost  wor- 
shipful interest  with  which  he  was  received,  could 
easily  have  spoiled  any  man,  but  with  Dr.  Tal- 
mage such  an  ovation  as  we  had  witnessed  seemed 
only  to  intensify  the  simplicity  of  his  character. 
He  lost  his  identity  in  the  elements  of  inspiration, 
and  when  he  had  finished  preaching  it  was  not 
to  himself  but  to  the  power  that  had  been  given 
him,  he  gave  all  the  credit  of  his  influence.  He 
was  always  simple,  direct,  unpretentious. 

During  a  short  stay  in  Chicago  Dr.  Talmage 
preached  in  his  son's  church,  and  then  hurried 
home  to  begin  his  duties  in  his  own  church.  Duty 
was  the  Doctor's  master  key  ;  with  it  he  locked 
himself  away  from  the  mediocre,  and  unlocked 


324  THE    FIRST    MILESTONE 

his  way  to  ultimate  freedom  of  religious  impulse. 
For  a  long  while  he  had  formed  a  habit  of  preach- 
ing without  recompense,  as  he  would  have  desired 
to  do  all  his  life,  because  he  felt  that  the  power  of 
preaching  was  a  gift  from  God,  a  trust  to  be 
transmitted  without  cost  to  the  people.  He  never 
missed  preaching  on  Sunday,  paying  his  own 
expenses  to  whatever  pulpit  he  was  invited  to 
occupy.  There  were  so  many  invitations  that 
he  was  usually  able  to  choose.  It  was  this  con- 
viction that  led  to  his  ultimate  resignation  from 
his  church  in  Washington,  that  he  might  be  free 
to  expound  the  Scriptures  wherever  he  was. 

He  was  always  so  happy  it  was  hard  to  believe 
that  he  was  overworking  ;  yet  I  feared  his  labour 
of  love  would  end  in  exhaustion  and  possible 
illness.  Everything  in  the  world  was  beautiful 
to  him,  and  yet  beauty  was  not  a  matter  of 
externals  with  him.  It  radiated  from  him,  even 
when  it  was  not  about  him.  Especially  was  this 
noticeable  when  we  were  away  together  on  one 
of  his  short  lecturing  trips.  At  these  times  we 
were  quite  alone,  and  then,  without  interruptions, 
in  the  sequestered  domain  of  some  country  hotel 
he  would  admit  me  into  the  wonderland  of  his 
inner  hopes,  his  plans  for  the  future,  his  ideas  of 
life  and  people  and  happiness.  Once  we  were 
staying  in  one  of  these  country  hotels  obviously 
pretentious,  but  very  uncomfortable — the  sort 
of  hotel  where  the  walls  of  the  room  oppress  you, 
and  the  furniture  astonishes  you,  and  there  are 
no  private  baths.  He  sat  down  in  the  largest 
chair,   literally  beaming  with   delight. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  now  I  take 
my  home  with  me  ;  before  I  used  to  be  so  much 
alone.    Now  I  have  someone  to  talk  to." 

There  was  nothing  comparative  in  his  happi- 
ness ;    everything  was  made  perfect  for  him  by 


SENATOR  FAULKNER  325 

the  simplicity  of  his  appreciation.  I  used  to  look 
forward  to  these  trips  as  one  might  look  forward 
to  an  excursion  into  some  new  and  unexpected 
transport  of  existence,  for  he  always  had  new 
wonders  of  heart  and  mind  to  reveal  in  these 
obscure  byways  we  explored  together.  They 
were  all  too  short,  and  yet  too  full  for  time  to 
record  them  in  a  diary.  These  were  the  hours 
that  one  puts  away  in  the  secret  chamber  of  un- 
written and  untold  feeling.  I  turn  again  to  the 
pages  of  our  scrap  book,  as  one  turns  to  the 
dictionary,  for  reserve  of  language. 

In  November  of  1898  I  find  there  a  clipping 
that  reminds  me  of  the  day  Dr.  Talmage  and  I 
spent  at  the  home  of  Senator  Faulkner,  in 
Martinsburg,  West  Virginia.  The  Anglo-American 
Commission  was  in  session  in  Washington  then, 
and  during  the  following  winter.  The  Joint  High 
Commission  was  the  official  title,  and  we  were 
invited  by  Senator  Faulkner  with  these  men  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  that  rare  Americanism  known  the 
world  over  as  Southern  hospitality.  The  foreign 
members  of  the  Commission  were  Lord  Herschel, 
Sir  Wilfred  Laurier,  Sir  Louis  Davis,  and  Sir 
Richard  Cartwright.  Our  host  was  one  of  the 
Americans  on  the  Commission. 

We  left  Washington  about  noon,  lunched  on 
the  train,  and  reached  the  old  ancestral  home  in 
a  snow  storm.  All  of  the  available  carriages  and 
carry-alls  were  at  our  disposal,  however,  and  we 
were  quickly  driven  to  the  warm  fireside  of  a  true 
Southerner,  who,  more  than  any  other  kind  of 
man,  knows  how  to  brand  the  word  "Home"  upon 
your  memory.  We  dined  with  true  Southern 
sumptuousness.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  resigned 
and  comfortable  expression  of  that  little  roast 
pig  as  it  was  laid  before  us.  To  the  Englishmen 
it  was  a  rare  chance  to  understand  the  cordial 


326  THE    FIRST    MILESTONE 

relations  between  England  and  America,  in  an 
atmosphere  of  Colonial  splendour.  The  house 
itself  has  not  undergone  any  change  since  it  was 
built ;  it  stands  a  complete  example  of  an  old 
ancestral  estate.  As  we  were  leaving,  our  host 
insisted  that  no  friend  should  leave  his  house 
without  tasting  the  best  egg-nog  ever  made  in 
Virginia.  The  doctor  and  I  drove  to  the  station 
in  a  carriage  with  Lord  Herschel.  He  was  a  man 
of  great  reserve  and  high  breeding.  On  the  way 
he  showed  us  a  letter  that  he  had  just  received 
from  his  daughter,  a  little  girl  in  England,  telling 
him  to  be  sure  and  come  home  for  the  Christmas 
holidays,  and  not  to  let  those  rich  Americans 
keep  him  away. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  dinners 
given  by  members  of  the  Joint  High  Commission 
in  Washington  during  the  winter,  to  which  we 
were  often  invited.  A  few  months  later  Lord 
Herschel  died  in  Washington.  Dr.  Talmage  was 
almost  the  last  man  to  see  him  alive.  He  called 
at  his  hotel  to  invite  him  to  stay  at  his  house,  but 
he  was  then  too  ill  to  be  moved. 

During  the  early  Fall  of  1898  the  Doctor 
lectured  at  Annapolis.  It  was  his  first  visit  to  the 
old  historic  town,  and  he  was  received  with  all 
the  honour  of  the  place.  We  were  the  guests  of 
Governor  Lowndes  at  the  executive  mansion, 
where  we  were  entertained  in  the  evening  at 
dinner.  Just  before  the  Christmas  holidays,  Dr. 
Talmage  made  a  short  lecturing  trip  into  Canada, 
and  I  went  with  him ;  it  was  my  privilege  to 
accompany  him  everywhere,  even  for  a  brief 
journey  of  a  day. 

In  Montreal,  while  sitting  in  a  box  with  some 
Canadian  friends,  during  one  of  the  Doctor's 
lectures,  they  told  me  how  deep  was  the  affection 
and  regard  for  him  in  England. 


ENGLISH  RECEPTION  327 

"  Wait  till  you  see  how  the  English  people 
receive  him,"  they  said  ;  "  you  will  be  surprised 
at  the  hold  that  he  has  on  them  over  there." 
The  following  year  I  went  to  England  with  him, 
and  experienced  with  pride  and  pleasure  the 
truth  of  what  they  had  said. 

The  end  of  our  first  year  together  seemed  to  be 
only  the  prelude  to  a  long  lifetime  of  companion- 
ship and  happiness,  without  age,  without  sorrow, 
without  discord. 


THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

1899—1900 

In  his  study  no  wasted  hours  ever  entered.  With 
the  exception  of  the  stenographer  and  his  im- 
mediate family  no  one  was  admitted  there.  It 
was  his  eventful  laboratory  where  he  conceived 
the  greatest  sermons  of  his  period.  I  merely 
quote  the  opinions  of  others,  far  more  important 
than  my  own,  when  I  say  this.  It  is  a  sort  of 
haunted  room  to-day  which  I  enter  not  with 
any  fear,  but  I  can  never  stay  in  it  very  long. 
It  has  no  ghostly  associations,  it  is  too  full 
of  vital  memories  for  that  ;  but  it  is  a  room 
that  mystifies  and  silences  me,  not  with  mere 
regrets,  for  that  is  sorrow,  and  there  is  nothing 
sad  about  the  place  to  me.  I  can  scarcely  convey 
the  impression ;  it  is  as  though  I  expected  to  see 
him  come  in  at  the  door  at  any  moment  and  hear 
him  call  my  name.  The  room  is  empty,  but  it 
makes  me  feel  that  he  has  only  just  stepped  out 
for  a  little  while.  The  study  is  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  a  long,  wide,  high-ceilinged  room  with 
many  windows,  from  which  the  tops  of  trees  sway 
gently  in  the  breeze  against  the  sky  above  and 
beyond.  I  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  with  him 
in  it.  Sometimes  he  would  talk  with  me  there 
about  the  themes  of  his  sermons  which  were  always 
drawn  from  some  need  in  modern  life. 

328 


PERSONAL  HABITS  329 

With  the  Bible  open  before  him  he  would  seek 
for  a  text. 

"  After  forty  years  of  preaching  about  all  the 
wonders  of  this  great  Book,"  he  would  say,  "  I 
am  often  puzzled  where  to  choose  the  text  most 
fitting  to  my  sermon." 

His  habits  were  methodical  in  the  extreme;  his 
time  punctually  divided  by  a  fixed  system  of  in- 
valuable character.  His  inspirations  were  part  of 
his  eternal  spirit,  but  he  lived  face  to  face 
with  time,  obedient  to  the  law  of  its  precision. 
I  think  of  him  always  as  of  one  whose  genius 
was  unknown  to  himself. 

We  could  always  tell  the  time  of  day  by  the 
Doctor's  habits.  They  were  as  regular  as  a  clock 
that  never  varies.  At  7.30  to  the  second  he  was 
at  the  breakfast  table.  It  was  exactly  one  o'clock 
when  he  sat  down  to  dinner.  At  6.30  his  supper 
was  before  him.  Some  of  our  household  would 
have  preferred  dining  in  the  evening,  but  in  that 
case  the  Doctor  would  have  dined  alone,  which 
was  out  of  the  question. 

Every  day  of  his  life,  excepting  Friday, 
Saturday  and  Sunday,  the  Doctor  walked  five 
miles.  In  bad  weather  he  went  out  muffled  and 
booted  like  a  sailor  on  a  stormy  sea.  His  favourite 
walk  was  always  from  our  house  to  the  Capitol, 
around  the  Library  of  Congress  and  back.  He 
never  varied  this  walk  for  he  had  no  bump  of 
locality,  and  he  was  afraid  of  losing  his  way.  If 
he  strayed  from  the  beaten  path  into  any  one 
of  the  beautiful  squares  in  Washington  he  was 
sure  to  have  to  ask  a  policeman  how  to  get 
home. 

Fridays  and  Saturdays  Dr.  Talmage  spent  en- 
tirely in  his  study,  dictating  his  sermons.  How 
many  miles  he  walked  these  days  he  himself 
never  knew,  but  all  day  long  he  tramped  back 


330  THE    SECOND    MILESTONE 

and  forth  the  length  of  his  study,  composing  and 
expounding  in  a  loud  voice  the  sermon  of  the 
week.  He  could  be  heard  all  over  the  house.  We 
had  a  new  servant  once  who  came  rushing  down- 
stairs to  my  room  one  morning  in  great  fear. 

"  Mrs.  Talmage,  ma'am,  there  is  a  crazy  man  in 
that  room  on  the  top  floor,"  she  cried.  She  had 
not  seen  nor  heard  the  Doctor,  and  did  not  know 
that  that  room  was  his  study.  On  these  week- 
end days  we  always  drove  after  dark.  An  open 
carriage  was  at  the  door  by  8  o'clock,  and  no 
matter  what  the  weather  might  be  we  had  our 
drive.  In  the  dead  of  winter,  wrapped  in  furs  and 
rugs,  we  have  driven  in  an  open  carriage  just  as 
if  it  were  summer.  Usually  we  went  up  on  Capitol 
Hill  because  the  Doctor  was  fond  of  the  view 
from  that  height. 

My  share  in  the  Doctor's  labours  were  those  of 
a  watchful  companion,  who  appreciated  his  genius, 
but  could  give  it  no  greater  light  than  sympathy 
and  admiration.  Occasionally  he  would  ask  me 
to  select  the  hymns  for  the  services,  and  this  I 
did  as  well  as  I  could.  Sunday  was  the  great 
day  of  the  week  to  me.  It  has  never  been  the  same 
since  the  Doctor  died.  Our  friendships  were 
always  mutual,  and  we  shared  them  with  equal 
pleasure.  The  Doctor's  friendship  with  President 
McKinley  was  an  intimate  mutual  association 
that  ended  only  with  the  great  national  disaster 
of  the  President's  assassination.  Very  often, 
we  walked  over  in  the  morning  to  the  White  House 
to  call  on  the  President  for  an  informal  chat. 
A  little  school  friend,  who  was  visiting  my  daughter 
that  winter,  told  my  husband  how  anxious  she 
was  to  see  a  President. 

"  Come  on  with  me,  I  will  show  you  a  real 
President,"  said  Dr.  Talmage  one  morning,  and 
over  we  went  to  the  White  House.     While  we 


AT  THE  WHITE  HOUSE  381 

were  talking  with  the  President,  Mrs.  McKinley 
came  in  from  a  drive  and  sent  word  that  she 
wished  to  see  us. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  the  President's  library 
and  bedroom,"  she  said,  "  that  you  may  see  how 
a  President  lives."  Then  she  took  us  upstairs 
and  showed  us  their  home. 

While  we  did  not  keep  open  house,  there  was 
always  someone  dropping  in  to  take  dinner  or 
supper  informally,  and  I  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised when  Dr.  Talmage  told  me  one  day 
that  he  thought  we  ought  to  give  some  sort 
of  entertainment  in  return  for  our  social  obliga- 
tions. It  was  not  quite  like  him  to  remember  or 
think  of  such  things.  On  January  23,  1899,  we 
gave  an  evening  reception,  to  which  over  300 
people  came.  It  was  the  first  social  affair  of 
consequence  the  Doctor  had  ever  given  in  his 
house  in  Washington. 

My  husband's  memory  for  names  was  so  un- 
certain that  when  he  introduced  me  to  people  he 
tactfully  mumbled.  On  this  occasion  Senator 
Gorman  very  kindly  stood  near  me  to  identify 
the  people  for  me.  I  remember  a  very  dapper, 
very  little  man  in  evening  clothes,  who  was 
passed  on  to  me  by  the  Doctor,  with  the  usual 
unintelligible  introduction,  and  I  had  just  begun 
to  make  myself  agreeable  when,  pointing  to  a 
medal  on  his  coat,  the  little  man  said  : 

"  I  am  the  only  woman  in  the  United  States 
who  has  been  honoured  with  one  of  these 
medals." 

I  was  very  much  mystified  and  looked  up 
helplessly  at  Senator  Gorman,  who  relieved  me 
at  once  by  saying,  "  Mrs.  Talmage,  this  is  the 
celebrated  Dr.  Mary  Walker,  of  whom  you  have 
heard  so  often." 

It  was  difficult  for  Dr.  Talmage  to  assimilate  the 


882  THE    SECOND   MILESTONE 

social  obligations  of  life  with  the  broader  demands 
of  his  life  mission,  which  seemed  to  constantly 
extend  and  increase  in  scope  into  the  far  distances 
of  the  world.  More  and  more  evident  it  became 
that  the  candlestick  of  his  religious  doctrine 
could  no  longer  be  maintained  in  one  church,  or 
in  one  pulpit.  The  necessity  of  breaking  engage- 
ments out  of  town  so  as  to  be  in  Washington 
every  Sunday  became  irksome  to  him.  He  felt 
that  he  could  do  better  in  the  purposes  of  his  use- 
fulness as  a  preacher  if  he  were  to  bear  the  candle 
of  his  Gospel  in  a  candlestick  he  could  carry 
everywhere  himself.  I  confess  that  I  was  not  sorry 
when  he  reached  this  decision  and  submitted  his 
resignation  to  the  First  Presbyterian  Church  in 
the  spring  of  1899,  after  our  return  from  a  short 
vacation  in  Florida. 

On  our  trip  South  I  remember  Admiral  Schley 
was  on  the  train  with  us  part  of  the  way.  The 
Admiral  told  the  Doctor  the  whole  story  of  the 
Santiago  victory,  and  commented  upon  the 
official  investigation  of  the  affair.  My  husband 
was  very  fond  of  him,  and  his  comment  was 
summed  up  in  his  reassuring  answer  to  the 
Admiral — "  But  you  were  there." 

It  was  during  our  stay  in  Florida  that  Dr. 
Talmage  and  Joseph  Jefferson,  the  actor,  renewed 
their  acquaintance.  The  Doctor  never  saw  him 
act  because  he  had  made  it  a  rule  after  he  entered 
the  ministry  in  his  youth  never  to  go  to  the 
theatre  to  see  a  play.  In  crossing  the  ocean  he 
had  frequently  appeared  with  stage  celebrities, 
at  the  usual  entertainments  given  on  board 
ship  for  the  benefit  of  seamen,  and  in  this  way 
had  made  some  friends  among  actors.  He  was 
particularly  fond  of  Madame  Modjeska,  whom  he 
had  met  on  the  steamer,  and  whose  character 
and  spirit  he  greatly  admired. 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  333 

Jefferson  was  a  great  fisherman,  and  most  of  his 
day  was  spent  on  the  water  or  on  the  pier.  There 
we  used  to  meet  him,  and  he  and  Dr.  Talmage 
would  exchange  reminiscences,  serious  and  ludi- 
crous. One  of  the  Doctor's  favourite  stories  was 
an  account  of  a  terrific  fight  he  saw  in  India, 
between  a  mongoose  and  a  cobra.  Mr.  Jefferson 
also  had  a  story,  a  sort  of  parody  of  this, 
which  described  a  man  in  delirium  tremens 
watching  in  imaginary  terror  a  similar  fight. 
Years  before  this,  when  the  Doctor  had  delivered 
his  famous  sermon  in  Brooklyn  against  the  stage, 
Jefferson  was  among  the  actors  who  went  to 
hear  him.  Recalling  this  incident,  Mr.  Jefferson 
said  : — 

"  When  I  entered  that  church  to  hear  your 
sermon,  Doctor,  I  hated  you.  When  I  left  the 
church,  I  loved  you."  He  talked  very  little  of 
the  theatre,  and  seemed  to  regard  his  stage 
career  with  less  importance  than  he  did  his  love 
of  painting.    He  never  grew  tired  of  this  subject. 

When  we  were  leaving  Palm  Beach,  Mr. 
Jefferson  said  to  me,  "  I  know  Dr.  Talmage  won't 
come  and  see  me  act,  but  when  I  am  in  Washing- 
ton I  will  send  you  a  box,  and  I  hope  the  Doctor 
will  let  you  come." 

Dr.  Talmage's  resignation  from  his  church  in 
Washington  took  place  in  March,  1899.  I  quote 
his  address  to  the  Presbytery  because  it  was  a 
momentous  event  occurring  in  the  gloaming  of 
what  seemed  to  us  all,  then,  the  prime  of  his  life  : 

"March  3,  1899. 
"To  the  Session  of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church 
of  Washington. 

"Dear  Friends — 

"The  increasing  demands  made  upon  me  by 
religious  journalism,  and  the  continuous  calls  for 


334  THE    SECOND   MILESTONE 

more  general  work  in  the  cities,  have  of  late  years 
caused  frequent  interruption  of  my  pastoral 
work.  It  is  not  right  that  this  condition  of  affairs 
should  further  continue.  Besides  that,  it  is 
desirable  that  I  have  more  opportunity  to  meet 
face  to  face,  in  religious  assemblies,  those  in  this 
country  and  in  other  countries  to  whom  I  have, 
through  the  kindness  of  the  printing  press,  been 
permitted  to  preach  week  by  week,  and  without 
the  exception  of  a  week,  for  about  thirty  years. 
Therefore,  though  very  reluctantly,  I  have  con- 
cluded, after  serving  you  nearly  four  years  in 
the  pastoral  relation,  to  send  this  letter  of 
resignation.  .  .  . 

"T.  DeWitt  Talmage." 

I  had  rather  expected  that  the  Doctor's  release 
from  his  church  would  have  had  the  desired 
effect  of  reducing  his  labours,  but  he  never  accom- 
plished less  than  the  allotment  of  his  utmost 
strength.  Rest  was  a  problem  he  never  solved, 
and  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  My  life  had 
not  been  idle  by  any  means,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  Doctor's  working  hours  were  without 
end.    When  I  told  him  this,  he  would  say  : — 

"  Why,  Eleanor,  I  am  not  working  hard  at 
all  now.  This  is  very  tame  compared  to  what 
I  have  done  in  the  years  gone  by." 

His  weekly  sermon  was  always  put  in  the  mail 
on  Saturday  night,  as  also  his  weekly  editorials. 
Sunday  the  sermon  was  preached,  and  on 
Monday  morning  the  syndicate  of  newspapers 
in  this  country  printed  it.  He  made  always  two 
copies  of  his  sermon.  One  he  sent  to  his  editorial 
offices  in  New  York,  the  other  was  delivered  to 
the  Washington  Post.  I  was  told  a  little  while 
ago  that  a  prominent  preacher  called  on  the 
editor  of  this  newspaper  and  asked  him  to  publish 


ANDREW  CARNEGIE  335 

one  of  his  own  sermons.  This  was  refused,  even 
when  the  aforesaid  preacher  offered  to  pay  for 
the  privilege. 

"  But  you  print  Talmage's  sermons  !  "  said 
the  preacher. 

"  We  do,"  replied  the  editor,  "  because  we 
find  that  our  readers  demand  them.  We  tried 
to  do  without  them,  but  we  could  not." 

Dr.  Talmage's  acquaintance  with  men  of 
national  reputation  was  very  wide,  but  he  never 
seemed  to  consider  their  friendship  greater  than 
any  others.  He  was  a  great  hero  worshipper  him- 
self, always  impressed  by  a  man  who  had  done 
something  in  the  world.  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  praise  being  bestowed  about  this  time  on  Mr. 
Carnegie's  library  gifts.  Dr.  Talmage  admired 
the  Scottish-American  immensely,  having  formed 
his  acquaintance  while  crossing  the  ocean.  Five 
or  six  years  later,  during  the  winter  of  1899,  the 
Doctor  met  him  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  White 
House.  He  tells  this  anecdote  in  his  own  words, 
as  follows  : — 

"  I  was  glad  I  was  present  that  day,  when  Mr. 
Andrew  Carnegie  decided  upon  the  gift  of  a  library 
to  the  city  of  Washington.  I  was  in  one  of  the 
rooms  of  the  White  House  talking  with  Governor 
Lowndes,  of  Maryland,  and  Mr.  B.  H.  Warner,  of 
Washington,  who  was  especially  interested  in  city 
libraries.  Mr.  Carnegie  entered  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  room.  We  greeted  each  other  with 
heartiness,  not  having  met  since  we  crossed  the 
ocean  together  some  time  before.  I  asked  Mr. 
Carnegie  to  permit  me  to  introduce  him  to  some 
friends.  After  each  introduction  the  conversa- 
tion immediately  turned  upon  libraries,  as  Mr. 
Carnegie  was  then  constantly  presenting  them  in 
this  and  other  lands.  Before  the  conversation 
ended  that  day,  Mr.   Carnegie  offered    $250,000 


336         THE   SECOND   MILESTONE 

for  a  Washington  library.  I  have  always  felt  very 
happy  at  having  had  anything  to  do  with  that 
interview,  which  resulted  so  gloriously." 

Dr.  Talmage's  opinions  upon  the  aftermath  of 
the  Spanish  war  were  widely  quoted  at  this 
time. 

"  The  fact  is  this  war  ought  never  to  have 
occurred,"  he  said.  "  We  have  had  the  greatest 
naval  officer  of  this  century,  Admiral  Schley, 
assailed  for  disobeying  orders,  and  General  Shafter 
denounced  for  being  too  fat  and  wanting  to 
retreat,  and  General  Wheeler  attacked  because  of 
something  else.  We  are  all  tired  of  this  investi- 
gating business.  I  never  knew  a  man  in  Church 
or  State  to  move  for  an  investigating  committee 
who  was  not  himself  somewhat  of  a  hypocrite. 
The  question  is  what  to  do  with  the  bad  job  we 
have  on  hand.  I  say,  educate  and  evangelise 
those  islands." 

As  he  wrote  he  usually  talked,  and  these  words 
are  recollections  of  the  subjects  he  talked  over 
with  me  in  his  quieter  study  hours.  They  were 
virile  talks,  abreast  of  the  century  hurrying  to  its 
close,  full  of  cheerfulness,  faith,  and  courage  for 
the  future. 

He  was  particularly  distressed  and  moved  by 
the  death  of  Chief  Justice  Field,  in  April,  1899. 
It  was  his  custom  to  read  his  sermons  to  me  in  his 
study  before  preaching.  He  chose  for  his  sermon 
on  April  16,  the  decease  of  the  great  jurist,  and 
his  text  was  Zachariah  xi,  2  :  "  Howl  fir  tree,  for 
the  cedar  has  fallen."  Many  no  doubt  remember 
this  sermon,  but  no  one  can  realise  the  depths  of 
feeling  with  which  the  Doctor  read  it  to  me  in  the 
secret  corner  of  his  workroom  at  home.  But  his 
heart  was  in  every  sermon.  He  said  when  he 
resigned  from  his  church : — 

"  The  preaching  of  the  Gospel  has  always  been 


A  TEMPERANCE  REFORMER         337 

my  chosen  work,  I  believe  I  was  called  to  it,  and 
I  shall  never  abandon  it." 

During  this  season  in  Washington  we  gave  a  few 
formal  dinners.  My  husband  wished  it,  and  he  was 
a  cheerful,  magnetic  host,  though  he  accepted  few 
invitations  to  dinner  himself.  No  wine  was  served 
at  these  dinners,  and  yet  they  were  by  no  means 
dull  or  tiresome.  Our  guests  were  men  of  ideas, 
men  like  Justice  Brewer,  Speaker  Reed,  Senator 
Burrows,  Justice  Harlan,  Vice-President  Fair- 
banks, Governor  Stone,  and  Senators  who  have 
since  become  members  of  the  old  guard.  It  was 
said  in  Washington  at  the  time  that  Dr.  Tal- 
mage's  dinner  parties  were  delightful,  because 
they  were  ostensible  opportunities  to  hear  men 
talk  who  had  something  to  say.  The  Doctor  was 
liberal-minded  about  everything,  but  his  stan- 
dards of  conduct  were  the  laws  of  his  life  that  no 
one  could  jeopardise  or  deny. 

A  very  prominent  society  woman  came  to  Dr. 
Talmage  one  day  to  ask  the  favour  that  he  preach 
a  temperance  sermon  for  the  benefit  of  Sir  Wilfrid 
Laurier,  whom  she  wanted  to  interest  in  temper- 
ance legislation.  She  promised  to  bring  him  to 
the  Doctor's  church  for  that  purpose. 

4  Madame,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  Sir 
Wilfrid  Laurier  attend  my  church,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "  but  I  never  preach  at  anybody.  Your 
request  is  something  I  cannot  agree  to."  The 
lady  was  a  personal  friend,  and  she  persisted. 
Finally  the  Doctor  said  to  her  : 

'  Mrs.  G ,  my  wife  and  I  are  invited  to 

meet  Sir  Wilfrid  Laurier  at  a  dinner  in  your  house 
next  week.  Will  you  omit  the  wines  at  that 
dinner  ?  "  The  lady  admitted  that  that  would  be 
impossible. 

"  Then  you  see,  Madame,  how  difficult  it  would 
be  for  me  to  alter  my  principles  as  a  preacher." 


338  THE    SECOND   MILESTONE 

In  May,  1899,  Dr.  Talmage  and  I  left  Washington 
and  went  to  East  Hampton — alone.  Contrary  to 
his  usual  custom  of  closing  his  summer  home 
between  seasons,  the  Doctor  had  allowed  a  minister 
and  his  family  to  live  there  for  three  months. 
Diphtheria  had  developed  in  the  family  during 
that  time  and  the  Doctor  ordered  everything  in 
the  house  to  be  burned,  and  the  walls  scraped. 
So  the  whole  house  had  to  be  refurnished,  and  the 
Doctor  and  I  together  selected  the  furniture.  It 
was  a  joyous  time,  it  was  like  redecorating  our 
lives  with  a  new  charm  and  sentiment  that  was 
intimately  beautiful  and  refreshing.  I  remember 
the  tenderness  with  which  the  Doctor  showed  me 
a  place  on  the  door  of  the  barn  where  his  son 
DeWitt,  who  died,  had  carved  his  initials.  He 
would  never  allow  that  spot  to  be  touched,  it  was 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  what  was  perhaps 
the  most  absorbing  affection  of  his  life.  He 
always  called  East  Hampton  his  earthly  paradise, 
which  to  him  meant  a  busy  Utopia.  He  was  very 
fond  of  the  sea  bathing,  and  his  chief  recreation 
was  running  on  the  beach.  He  was  65  years  old, 
yet  he  could  run  like  a  young  man.  These  few 
weeks  were  a  memorable  vacation. 

In  June,  Dr.  Talmage  made  an  engagement  to 
attend  the  60th  commencement  exercises  of  the 
Erskine  Theological  College  in  Due  West,  South 
Carolina.  This  is  the  place  where  secession  was 
first  planned,  as  it  is  also  the  oldest  Presbyterian 
centre  in  the  United  States.  We  were  the  guests 
of  Dr.  Grier,  the  president  of  the  college.  It  was 
known  that  Rev.  David  P.  Pressly,  Presbyterian 
patriarch  and  graduate  of  this  college,  had  been 
my  father's  pastor  in  Pittsburg,  and  this  associa- 
tion added  some  interest  to  my  presence  in  Due 
West  with  the  Doctor.  The  Rev.  E.  P.  Lindsay, 
my  brother's  pastor  in  Pittsburg,  had  also  been 


m  BETTER  THAN  EVER ! "  389 

born  there,  and  his  mother,  when  I  met  her  in 
1899,  was  still  a  vigorous  Secessionist.  Her 
greatest  disappointment  was  the  fact  that  her 
son  had  abandoned  the  sentiments  of  Secession 
and  had  gone  to  preach  in  a  Northern  church. 
She  told  us  that  she  had  once  hidden  Jefferson 
Davis  in  her  house  for  three  days.  Due  West  was 
a  quiet  little  village  inhabited  by  some  rich  people 
who  lived  comfortably  on  their  plantations.  The 
graduating  class  of  the  college  were  entertained 
at  dinner  by  Dr.  Grier  and  the  Doctor.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  comment  upon  the  physical  vigour 
and  strength  of  Dr.  Talmage's  address,  most  of 
which  reached  me.  A  gentleman  who  was  present 
was  reminded  of  the  remarkable  energy  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Pressly,  who  preached  for  over  fifty 
years,  and  was  married  three  times.  When 
asked  about  his  health,  Dr.  Pressly  always 
throughout  his  life  made  the  same  reply,  "  Never 
better ;  never  better."  After  he  had  won  his 
third  wife,  however,  he  used  to  reply  to  this 
question  with  greater  enthusiasm  than  before, 
saying,  "Better  than  ever;  better  than  ever." 
Another  resident  of  Due  West,  who  had  heard 
both  the  Booths  in  their  prime,  said,  "  Talmage 
has  more  dramatic  power  than  I  ever  saw  in 
Booth."  This  visit  to  Due  West  will  always 
remain  in  my  memory  as  full  of  sunshine  and 
warmth  as  the  days  were  themselves. 

We  returned  to  East  Hampton  for  a  few  days,  and 
on  July  4,  1899,  the  Doctor  delivered  an  oration 
to  an  immense  crowd  in  the  auditorium  at  Ocean 
Grove.  This  was  the  beginning  of  a  summer 
tour  of  Chautauquas,  first  in  Michigan,  then  up 
the  lakes  near  Mackinaw  Island,  and  later  to 
Jamestown,  New  York. 

In  the  Fall  of  1899  we  made  a  trip  South, 
including  Nashville,  Memphis,  Chattanooga,  Bir- 


340  THE    SECOND   MILESTONE 

mingham,  and  New  Orleans.  One  remarkable 
feature  of  Dr.  Talmage's  public  life  was  the  way  in 
which  he  was  sought  as  the  man  of  useful 
opinions  upon  subjects  that  were  not  related  to 
the  pulpit.  He  was  always  being  interviewed 
upon  political  and  local  issues,  and  his  views  were 
scattered  broadcast,  as  if  he  were  himself  an 
official  of  national  affairs.  He  never  failed  to  be 
ahead  of  the  hour.  He  regarded  the  affairs  of 
men  as  the  basis  of  his  evangelical  purpose.  The 
Spanish  war  ended,  and  his  views  were  sought 
about  the  future  policy  in  the  East.  The  Boer 
war  came,  and  his  opinions  of  that  issue  were 
published.  Nothing  moved  in  or  out  of  the  world 
of  import,  during  these  last  milestones  of  his  life, 
that  he  was  not  asked  about  its  coming  and  its 
going.  His  readiness  to  penetrate  the  course  of 
events,  to  wrap  them  in  the  sacred  veil  of  his  own 
philosophy  and  spiritual  fabric,  combined  to 
make  him  one  of  the  foremost  living  characters 
of  his  time. 

Dr.  Talmage  was  the  most  eager  human  being  I 
ever  knew,  eager  to  see,  to  feel  the  heart  of  all 
humanity.  I  remember  we  arrived  in  Birmingham, 
Alabama,  the  day  following  the  disaster  that 
visited  that  city  after  the  great  cyclone.  The 
first  thing  the  Doctor  did  on  our  arrival  was 
to  get  a  carriage  and  drive  through  those  sections 
of  the  city  that  had  suffered  the  most.  It  was  a 
gruesome  sight,  with  so  many  bodies  lying  about 
the  streets  awaiting  burial.  But  that  was  his 
grasp  of  life,  his  indomitable  energy,  always  alert 
to  see  and  hear  the  laws  of  nature  at  close  range. 

We  were  entertained  a  great  deal  through  the 
South,  where  I  believe  my  husband  had  the 
warmest  friends  and  a  more  cordial  appreciation 
than  in  any  other  part  of  the  country.  There  was 
no  lack  of  excitement  in  this  life  that  I  was  leading 


THE  PAN-PRESBYTERIAN  COUNCIL    341 

at  the  elbow  of  the  great  preacher,  and  sometimes 
he  would  ask  me  if  the  big  crowds  did  not  tire 
me.  To  him  they  were  the  habit  of  his  daily  life, 
a  natural  consequence  of  his  industry.  However, 
I  think  he  always  found  me  equal  to  them,  always 
happy  to  be  near  him  where  I  could  see  and  hear 
all. 

In  October  of  this  year  we  returned  to  Wash- 
ington, when  the  Pan-Presbyterian  Council  was 
in  session,  and  we  entertained  them  at  a  reception 
in  our  house  till  late  in  the  evening.  The  Inter- 
national Union  of  Women's  Foreign  Missionary 
Societies  of  the  Presbyterian  and  Reformed 
Churches  were  also  meeting  in  Washington  at 
this  time,  and  they  came.  At  one  of  the  meetings 
of  the  Council  Dr.  Talmage  invited  them  all  to 
his  house  from  the  platform  in  his  characteristic 
way. 

"  Come  all,"  he  said,  "  and  bring  your  wives 
with  you.  God  gave  Eve  to  Adam  so  that  when  he 
lost  Paradise  he  might  be  able  to  stand  it.  She  was 
taken  out  of  man's  side  that  she  might  be  near 
the  door  of  his  heart,  and  have  easy  access  to  his 
pockets.  Therefore,  come,  bringing  the  ladies 
with  you.  My  wife  and  I  shall  not  be  entertaining 
angels  unawares,  but  knowing  it  all  the  while. 
To  have  so  much  piety  and  brain  under  one  roof 
at  once,  even  for  an  hour  or  two,  will  be  a  bene- 
diction to  us  all  the  rest  of  our  lives.  I  believe 
in  the  communion  of  saints  as  much  as  I  believe 
in  the  life  everlasting." 

In  November,  1899,  Dr.  Talmage  installed  the 
Rev.  Donald  McLeod  as  succeeding  pastor  of  the 
First  Presbyterian  Church  in  Washington,  and 
delivered  the  installation  address,  the  subject  of 
which  was,  "Invitation  to  Outsiders."  There  had 
been  some  effort  to  inspire  the  people  of  Washing- 
ton to  build  an  independent  Tabernacle  for  the 


342  THE    SECOND    MILESTONE 

Doctor  after  his  resignation,  but  he  himself  was 
not  in  sympathy  with  the  movement  because  of 
the  additional  labour  and  strain  it  would  have  put 
upon  him. 

As  the  winter  grew  into  long,  gray  days,  we 
were  already  planning  a  trip  to  Europe  for  the 
following  year  of  1900,  and  we  were  anticipating 
this  event  with  eager  expectancy  as  the  time  grew 
near. 


THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

1900—1901 

So  much  has  been  written  about  Dr.  Talmage 
the  world  over,  that  I  am  tempted  to  tell  those 
things  about  him  that  have  not  been  written,  but 
it  is  difficult  to  do.  He  stood  always  before  the 
people  a  sort  of  radiant  mystery  to  them.  He 
was  never  really  understood  by  those  whom  he 
most  influenced.  A  writer  in  an  English  news- 
paper has  given  the  best  description  of  his  ap- 
pearance in  1900  I  ever  saw.  It  is  so  much  better 
than  any  I  could  make  that  I  quote  it,  regretting 
that  I  do  not  know  the  author's  name : — 

"  A  big  man,  erect  and  masterful  in  spite  of 
advancing  years,  with  an  expressive  and  mobile 
mouth  that  seems  ever  smiling,  and  with  great 
and  speaking  eyes  which  proclaim  the  fervent  soul 
beneath." 

This  portrait  is  very  true,  with  a  suggestion  of 
his  nature  that  makes  it  a  faithful  transcript  of 
his  presence.  It  is  a  picture  of  him  at  66  years  of 
age.  His  strength  overwhelmed  people,  and  yet 
he  was  very  simple,  easily  affected  by  the  mis- 
fortunes of  others,  direct  in  all  his  impressions; 
but  no  one  could  take  him  by  surprise,  because 
his  faith  in  the  eternal  redemption  of  all  trials 

343 


344  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

was  beyond  the  ways  of  the  world.  His  optimism 
was  simple  Christianity.  He  always  said  he 
believed  there  was  as  great  a  number  out  of  the 
Church  as  there  was  in  it  that  followed  the 
teaching  of  Christianity.  He  was  among  the 
believers,  with  his  utmost  energy  alert  to  save 
and  comfort  the  unbelievers.  He  believed  in 
everything  and  everyone.  The  ingenuousness 
of  his  nature  was  childlike  in  its  unchallenged 
faith  and  its  tender  instincts.  His  unworldliness 
was  almost  legendary  in  its  belief  of  human  nature. 
I  remember  he  was  asked  once  whether  he  be- 
lieved in  Santa  Claus,  and  in  his  own  beautiful 
imagery  he  said  : 

"  I  believe  in  Santa  Claus.  Haven't  I  listened 
when  I  was  a  boy  and  almost  heard  those  bells 
on  the  reindeer  ;  haven't  I  seen  the  marks  in 
the  snow  where  the  sleigh  stopped  at  the  door 
and  old  Santa  jumped  out  ?  I  believed  in  him 
then  and  I  believe  in  him  now — believe  that 
children  should  be  allowed  to  believe  in  the 
beautiful  mythical  tale.  It  never  hurt  anyone, 
and  I  think  one  of  the  saddest  memories  of  my 
childhood  is  of  a  day  when  an  older  brother  told 
me  there  was  no  Santa  Claus.  I  didn't  believe 
him  at  first,  and  afterwards  when  I  saw  those  de- 
lightful mysterious  bundles  being  sneaked  into  the 
house,  way  down  deep  in  my  heart  I  believed 
that  Santa  Claus  as  well  as  my  father  and  mother 
had  something  to  do  with  it." 

In  the  last  years  of  his  life  music  became  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  Dr.  Talmage.  An  accumula- 
tion of  work  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  engage 
a  secretary.  We  were  fortunate  in  securing  a 
young  lady  who  was  an  exquisite  pianist.  In  the 
evening  she  would  play  Liszt's  rhapsodies  for  the 
Doctor,  who  enjoyed  the  Hungarian  composer 
most  of  all.    He  said  to  me  once  that  he  felt  as  if 


THE  LAST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  345 

music  in  his  study,  when  he  was  at  work,  would 
be  a  great  inspiration.  So  my  Christmas  present 
to  him  that  year  was  a  musical  box,  which  he  kept 
in  his  study. 

The  three  months  preceding  our  trip  to  Europe 
were  spent  in  the  usual  busy  turmoil  of  social  and 
public  life.  In  truth  we  were  very  full  of  our  plans 
for  the  European  tour,  which  was  to  be  devoted  to 
preaching  by  Dr.  Talmage,  and  to  show  me  the 
places  he  had  seen  and  people  he  had  met  on 
previous  visits.  There  was  something  significant 
in  the  welcome  and  the  ovations  which  my 
husband  received  over  there.  Neither  the 
Doctor  nor  myself  ever  dreamed  that  it  would  be 
his  farewell  visit.  And  yet  it  seems  to  me  now 
that  he  was  received  everywhere  in  Europe  as  if 
they  expected  it  to  be  his  last. 

I  must  confess  that  we  looked  forward  to  our 
jaunt  across  the  water  so  eagerly  that  the  events 
of  the  preceding  months  did  not  seem  very  im- 
portant. With  Dr.  Talmage  I  went  on  his  usual 
lecture  trip  West,  stopping  in  Chicago,  where 
the  Doctor  preached  in  his  son's  church.  Every- 
where we  were  invited  to  be  the  guests  of  some 
prominent  resident  of  the  town  we  were  in.  It  had 
been  so  with  Dr.  Talmage  for  years.  He  always 
refused,  however,  because  he  felt  that  his  time 
was  too  imperative  a  taskmaster.  For  thirty 
years  he  had  never  visited  anyone  over  night, 
until  he  went  to  my  brother's  house  in  Pittsburg. 
But  we  were  constantly  meeting  old  friends  of 
his,  friends  of  many  years,  in  every  stopping 
place  of  our  journeys.  I  remember  particularly 
one  of  these  characteristic  meetings  which  took 
place  in  New  York,  where  the  Doctor,  had  gone 
to  preach  one  Sunday.  We  had  just  entered  the 
Waldorf  Hotel,  where  we  were  stopping,  when  a 
little  man  stepped  up  to  the  Doctor  and  began 


346  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

picking  money  off  his  coat.  He  seemed  to  find  it 
all  over  him.  Dr.  Talmage  laughed,  and  intro- 
duced me  to  Marshall  P.  Wilder. 

"  Dr.  Talmage  started  me  in  life,"  said  Mr. 
Wilder,  and  proceeded  to  tell  me  how  the  Doctor 
had  filled  him  with  optimism  and  success.  He  was 
always  doing  this,  gripping  young  men  by  the 
shoulders  and  shaking  them  into  healthful  life. 
And  then  men  of  political  or  national  prominence 
were  always  seeking  him  out,  to  gain  a  little 
dynamic  energy  and  balance  from  the  Doctor's 
storehouse  of  experience  and  philosophy.  He 
was  a  giant  of  helpfulness  and  inspiration,  to 
everyone  who  came  into  contact  with  him. 

In  January  we  dined  with  Governor  Stone 
at  the  executive  mansion  in  Harrisburg,  where 
Dr.  Talmage  went  to  preach,  and  on  our  return 
from  Europe  Governor  Stone  insisted  upon  giving 
us  a  great  reception  and  welcome.  Of  course, 
those  years  were  stirring  and  enjoyable,  and  never 
to  be  forgotten.  The  reflected  glory  is  a  personal 
pleasure  after  all. 

In  April,  1900,  we  sailed  on  the  "  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm  der  Grosse  "  bound  for  London.  The  two 
points  of  interest  the  Doctor  insisted  upon  making 
in  Europe  were  the  North  Cape,  to  see  the  Mid- 
night Sun,  and  the  Passion  Play  at  Ober-Ammergau. 
Hundreds  of  invitations  had  been  sent  to  him  to 
preach  abroad,  many  of  which  he  accepted,  but 
he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  lecture. 

There  was  never  a  jollier,  more  electric  com- 
panion de  voyage  than  Dr.  Talmage  during  the 
whole  of  his  trip.  He  was  the  life  of  the  party, 
which  included  his  daughter,  Miss  Maud  Talmage, 
and  my  daughter,  Miss  Rebekah  Collier. 

On  a  very  stormy  Sunday,  on  board  ship  going 
over,  Dr.  Talmage  preached,  holding  on  to  a  pillar 
in  the  cabin.     There  were  some  who  wondered 


IN   ENGLAND  847 

how  he  escaped  the  tortures  of  mal-de-mer,  from 
which  he  had  always  suffered.  It  was  a  family 
secret.  Once,  when  crossing  with  Mrs.  Vanderbilt, 
she  had  given  Dr.  Talmage  an  opium  plaster, 
which  was  absolute  proof  against  the  disagreeable 
consequences  of  ocean  travel.  With  the  aid  of 
this  plaster  the  Doctor's  poise  was  perfect.  Dis- 
embarking at  Southampton  we  did  not  reach 
London  until  3  a.m.,  going  to  the  hotel  somewhat 
the  worse  for  wear.  Temporarily  we  stopped  at 
the  Langham,  moving  later  to  the  Metropole. 
Before  lunch  the  same  day  the  Doctor  drove  to 
Westminster  Abbey  to  see  the  grave  of  Gladstone. 
It  was  his  first  thought,  his  first  duty.  It  had 
been  his  custom  for  many  years  to  visit  the  graves 
of  his  friends  whenever  he  could  be  near  them. 
It  was  a  characteristic  impulse  of  Dr.  Talmage's  to 
follow  to  the  edge  of  eternity  those  whom  he  had 
known  and  liked.  When  he  was  asked  in  England 
what  he  had  come  to  do  there,  he  said  : 

"  I  am  visiting  Europe  with  the  hope  of  re- 
viving old  friendships  and  stimulating  those  who 
have  helped  me  in  the  old  gospel  of  kindness." 

His  range  of  vision  was  always  from  the  Gospel 
point  of  view,  not  necessarily  denominational.  I 
remember  he  was  asked,  while  in  England,  if 
there  was  an  organisation  in  America  akin  to  the 
Evangelical  Council  of  Free  Churches,  and  he 
said,  while  there  was  no  such  body,  "  there  was 
a  common  platform  in  the  United  States  upon 
almost  every  subject." 

The  principal  topic  in  England  then  was  the 
Boer  War,  which  aroused  so  much  hostility  in  our 
country.  The  Doctor's  sympathies  were  with 
the  Boers,  but  he  tactfully  evaded  any  public 
expression  of  them  in  England,  although  he  was 
interviewed  widely  on  the  subject.  He  never 
believed  in  rumours  that  were  current,  that  the 


348  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

United  States  would  interfere  in  the  Transvaal,  and 
prophesied  that  the  American  Government  would 
not  do  so — "remembering  their  common  origin." 

"  The  great  need  in  America,"  he  said,  "is  of 
accurate  information  about  the  Transvaal  affairs. 
A  great  many  Democratic  politicians  are  trying 
to  make  Presidential  capital  out  of  the  Boer 
disturbances,  but  it  is  doubtful  how  far  these 
politicians  will  be  permitted  to  dictate  the  policy 
of  even  their  own  party." 

I  remember  the  candidature  for  President  of 
Admiral  Dewey  was  discussed  with  Dr.  Talmage, 
who  had  no  very  emphatic  views  about  the  matter, 
except  to  declare  Admiral  Dewey's  tremendous 
popularity,  and  to  acknowledge  his  support  by 
the  good  Democrats  of  the  country.  The  Doctor 
was  convinced  however  that  Mr.  McKinley  would 
be  the  next  President  at  this  time. 

The  first  service  in  England  which  Dr.  Talmage 
conducted  was  in  Cavendish  Chapel  at  Man- 
chester. The  next  was  at  Albert  Hall  in  Notting- 
ham, under  the  auspices  of  the  Y.M.C.A.  He  was 
described  in  the  Nottingham  newspapers  as  the 
"  most  alive  man  in  the  United  States."  A 
great  crowd  filled  the  hall  at  Nottingham, 
and  as  usual  he  was  compelled  to  hold  an 
open-air  meeting  afterwards.  The  first  lecture 
he  ever  delivered  in  England  was  given  in  this 
place  twenty-one  years  before. 

Nothing  interfered  with  the  routine  of  the 
Doctor's  habits  of  industry  during  all  this 
European  trip.  He  had  taken  over  with  him  the 
proofs  of  about  20  volumes  of  his  selected  sermons 
for  correction,  and  all  his  spare  moments  were 
spent  in  perfecting  and  revising  these  books  for 
the  printer.  His  sermons  were  the  only  monument 
he  wished  to  leave  to  posterity.  It  has  caused  me 
the  deepest  regret  that  these  books  have  not  been 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY  349 

perpetuated  as  he  so  earnestly  wished.  In 
addition  to  this  work  he  wrote  his  weekly  sermon 
for  the  syndicate,  employing  stenographers  where- 
ever  he  might  be  in  Europe  two  days  every  week 
for  that  purpose.  And  yet  he  never  lost  interest 
in  the  opportunities  of  travel,  eagerly  planning 
trips  to  the  old  historic  places  near  by. 

Near  Nottingham  is  the  famous  Byron  country 
which  Dr.  Talmage  had  never  found  time  to  visit 
when  he  was  in  Europe  before.  We  were  told, 
at  the  hotel  in  Nottingham,  that  no  visitors  were 
allowed  inside  Newstead  Abbey,  so  that  when  we 
ordered  a  carriage  to  drive  there  the  hotel  people 
shrugged  their  shoulders  at  what  they  regarded  as 
our  American  irreverence.  The  rain  was  coming 
down  in  torrents  when  we  started,  the  Doctor 
more  than  ever  determined  to  overthrow  British 
custom  in  his  quiet,  positive  way.  Through  slush 
and  mud,  under  dripping  trees,  across  country 
landscapes  veiled  in  the  tender  mist  of  clouds,  we 
finally  arrived  at  the  Abbey.  The  huge  outer 
gates  were  open,  but  the  driver,  with  proper 
British  respect  for  the  law,  stopped  his  horses. 
The  Doctor  leaned  his  head  out  of  the  carriage 
window  and  told  him  to  drive  into  the  grounds. 
Obediently  he  did  so,  and  at  last  we  reached  the 
great  heavy  doors  of  the  entrance.  Dr.  Talmage 
jumped  out  and  boldly  rang  the  bell.  A  sentry 
appeared  to  inform  us  that  no  one  was  allowed 
inside  the  Abbey. 

"  But  we  have  come  all  the  way  from  America 
to  see  this  place,"  the  Doctor  urged.  The  sentry, 
with  wooden  militarism,  was  adamant. 

"  Is  there  no  one  inside  in  authority  ?  "  the 
Doctor  finally  asked.  Then  the  housekeeper  was 
called.  She  told  us  that  the  Abbey  belonged  to  an 
Army  officer  and  his  wife,  that  her  master  was  away 
at  the  war  in  South  Africa  where  his  wife  had  gone 


350  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

with  him,  and  that  her  orders  were  impera- 
tive. 

"  Look  here,  just  let  us  see  the  lower  floor," 
said  Dr.  Talmage  ;  "we  have  come  all  the  way 
from  New  York  to  see  this  place,"  and  he  slipped 
two  sovereigns  into  her  hand.  Still  she  was 
unmoved.  My  daughter,  who  was  then  about 
14,  was  visibly  disappointed.  England  was  to 
her  hallowed  ground,  and  she  was  keenly  anxious 
to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  all  its  romance,  which 
she  had  eagerly  absorbed  in  history.  Turning  to 
the  Doctor,  she  said,  almost  tearfully : 

"Why,  Doctor  Talmage,  how  can  they  refuse 
you?" 

The  housekeeper  caught  the  name. 

"  Who  did  you  say  this  was  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Doctor  Talmage,"  said  my  daughter. 

"  Dr.  Talmage,  I  was  just  reading  the  sermon 
you  preached  on  Sunday  in  the  Nottingham  news- 
paper, I  am  sure  if  my  mistress  were  at  home  she 
would  be  glad  to  receive  you.     Come  in,  come  in ! " 

So  we  saw  Newstead  Abbey.  The  housekeeper 
insisted  that  we  should  stay  to  tea,  and  made  us 
enter  our  names  in  the  visitors'  book,  and  asked 
the  Doctor  to  write  his  name  on  a  card,  saying,  "  I 
will  send  this  to  my  mistress  in  South  Africa." 

In  the  effort  to  remember  many  of  the  details 
of  our  stay  in  England  and  Scotland,  I  find  it 
necessary  to  take  refuge  for  information  in  my 
daughter's  diary.  It  amused  Dr.  Talmage  very 
much  as  he  read  it  page  by  page.  I  find  this 
entry  made  in  Manchester,  where  she  was  not 
well  enough  to  attend  church: — 

"  Sunday,  a.m. — Doctor  Talmage  preached  and 
I  was  disappointed  that  I  could  not  go.  The 
people  went  wild  about  the  Doctor,  and  he  had 
to  make  an  address  after  church  out-of-doors  for 
those  who  could  not  get  inside.    Several  policemen 


HADDON   HALL  351 

stood  around  the  church  door  to  keep  away  the 
crowd.  I  saw  the  High  Sheriff  driving  home 
from  church.  He  was  inside  a  coach  that  looked 
as  though  it  had  been  drawn  out  of  a  fairy  tale 
— a  huge  coach  painted  red  and  gold,  with  crowns 
or  something  like  them  at  each  of  the  four  corners. 
Two  footmen  dressed  in  George  III.  liveries  were 
hanging  behind  by  ribbons,  and  two  on  the  box, 
all  wearing  powdered  wigs.  To  be  sure,  I  didn't 
see  much  of  the  Sheriff,  but  then  the  coach  was 
the  real  show  after  all." 

Many  of  the  details  of  the  side  trips  which  we 
made  through  England  and  Scotland  have  escaped 
my  memory.  In  looking  over  my  daughter's 
diary  I  find  them  amplified  in  the  manner  of 
girlhood,  now  lightly  touched  with  fancy,  now 
solemn  with  historical  responsibility,  now  charmed 
with  the  glamour  of  romance.  Dr.  Talmage 
thought  so  well  of  them  that  they  will  serve  to 
show  the  trail  of  his  footsteps  through  the  gate- 
ways of  ancestral  England. 

We  went  to  Haddon  Hall  with  Dr.  Wrench, 
physician  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire.  We  drove 
from  Bakewell.  In  this  part  of  my  daughter's 
diary  I  read: — 

"  It  was  a  most  beautiful  drive.  Derbyshire  is 
called  the  Switzerland  of  England.  The  hills  were 
quite  high  and  beautifully  wooded,  and  our  drive 
lay  along  the  river's  edge — a  brook  we  would  call 
it  in  the  States,  but  it  is  a  river  here — and  winds  in 
and  out  and  through  the  fields  and  around  the 
foot  of  the  highest  hill  of  all,  called  the  Peak  of 
Derbyshire.  We  passed  picturesque  little  farm- 
houses, built  of  square  blocks  of  rough,  grey  stone 
covered  with  ivy.  We  drove  between  hawthorn 
hedges,  through  beautiful  green  fields  and  orchards. 
From  the  midst  of  a  little  forest  of  grand  old  trees 
we  caught  sight  of  the  highest  tower  of  the  castle, 


352  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

then  we  crossed  over  a  little  stone  bridge  and 
passed  through  the  gates.  Another  short  drive 
across  the  meadow  and  we  stopped  at  the  foot  of 
a  little  hill,  looking  up  at  Haddon  Hall. 

"  We  walked  up  to  the  castle  and  stood  before 
the  great  iron-studded  oak  door,  which  has  been 
there  since  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  It  had 
not  been  opened  for  years,  but  a  smaller  one  had 
been  cut  in  it  through  which  visitors  passed.  For 
over  200  years  no  one  had  lived  in  the  castle.  It 
was  built  by  the  Normans  and  given  by  William 
the  Conqueror  to  one  of  his  Norman  Barons. 
Finally  by  marriage  it  became  the  property  of 
Sir  George  Vernon,  who  had  two  daughters, 
famous  for  their  beauty.  Margaret  Vernon 
married  a  Stanley,  and  on  the  night  of  the  wedding 
Dorothy  Vernon  eloped  with  Mr.  John  Manners. 
The  story  is  very  romantic.  The  ballroom  from 
which  Dorothy  stole  away  when  the  wedding 
party  was  at  its  height  is  still  just  as  it  was  then, 
excepting  for  the  furniture.  From  the  windows 
you  can  see  the  little  stone  bridge  where  Manners 
waited  for  her  with  the  horses.  Haddon  Hall 
became  the  property  of  Dorothy  Manners  and 
has  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Rutland  family, 
being  now  owned  by  the  Duke  of  Rutland. 

"  That  is  the  romance  of  Haddon  Hall,  but 
one  could  make  up  a  hundred  to  oneself  when  one 
walks  through  the  different  rooms.  What  a  queer 
feeling  it  gives  me  to  go  through  the  old  doorways, 
to  stop  and  look  through  the  queer  little  windows, 
and  on  the  courtyard,  wondering  who  used,  long 
ago,  to  look  out  of  the  same  windows.  I  wonder 
what  they  saw  going  on  in  the  courtyard  ? 

"  We  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  highest  tower. 
The  stairway  wound  upward  with  stone  steps 
about  three  feet  high  cut  out  of  the  wall.  At 
intervals-   we    found    little    square    rooms,    very 


CHATSWORTH  353 

possibly  where  the  men  at  arms  slept.  What  a 
view  at  the  top  !  The  towers  and  roofs  and  court- 
yards of  the  castle  lay  before  us.  All  around  us 
the  lovely  English  country,  and  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  hills,  woodland,  and  the  winding  river. 
It  was  glorious.  Maud  and  I  danced  a  two-step 
in  the  ballroom. 

"  If  stones  could  only  talk !  Well,  if  they  could  I 
should  want  a  long  confab  with  each  one  in  the  old 
courtyard  of  Haddon  Hall.  Who  can  tell,  William 
the  Conqueror  himself  may  have  stepped  on  some 
of  them." 

We  drove  from  Haddon  Hall  to  the  Peacock  Inn 
for  luncheon,  going  over  to  Chatsworth  for  the 
afternoon.   Again  I  turn  a  few  leaves  of  the  diary : 

"  Chatsworth  is  one  of  the  homes  of  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire.  The  park  is  fourteen  miles  across 
and  I  don't  know  how  big  it  is,  but  Dr.  Wrench 
told  me  the  number  of  acres,  and  I  think  it  was 
three  or  four  thousand.  We  drove  five  miles 
through  the  park  before  reaching  the  gates  of 
Chatsworth — shall  I  call  it  house  or  castle  ?  I 
have  pictures  of  it,  and  it  is  a  good  thing  for  I 
could  not  describe  it.  Dr.  Wrench,  being  the 
Duke's  physician,  was  able  to  take  us  through  the 
private  rooms.  On  entering  the  Hall,  a  broad 
marble  staircase  leads  to  the  corridors  above, 
from  which  others  branch  out  through  different 
parts  of  the  house.  We  walked  miles,  it  seems, 
until  we  got  to  the  Duke's  private  library.  When 
you  are  once  in  the  room  the  doors  are  shut.  You 
cannot  tell  how  you  got  in  or  how  you  will  get  out. 
On  every  wall  the  bookcases  are  built  in  and  there 
is  not  an  opening  of  any  kind  ;  not  a  break  in  the 
rows  and  rows  of  books.  The  explanation  is 
simply  this  :  the  doors  themselves  are  made  to 
look  like  book  shelves,  painted  on. 

"  Chatsworth  is  so  large  that  were  I  living  there 

2  A 


354  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

I  should  want  a  Cook's  guide  every  time  I  moved. 
One  picture  gallery  is  full  of  sketches  by  Hogarth, 
and  pictures  of  almost  every  old  master  you  ever 
heard  of,  and  some  you  never  heard  of.  Opening  out 
of  this  gallery  are  great  glass  doors  leading  into 
halls  into  which  the  different  bedrooms  open. 
In  one  bedroom  the  walls  and  ceiling  were 
covered  with  oil  paintings,  not  hanging  but 
literally  painted  on  them.  The  bed  was  a  huge 
four-poster.  The  curtains  were  of  heavy  brocaded 
satin.  The  windows  looked  out  on  terraces, 
garden  and  fountains.  I  like  this  room  best  of  all. 
We  were  taken  through  the  state  apartments 
where  I  saw  on  a  throne  a  huge  chair  of  state  on 
a  platform,  with  canopy  over  it,  with  the  Duke's 
crest  in  gold  woven  upon  it.  In  one  of  the  drawing- 
rooms  we  saw  a  life-size  portrait  of  Henry  VIII., 
a  real  true  one  painted  from  life,  and  one  of 
Philip  II.  of  Spain,  and  of  Charles  V.,  and  of 
Anne  of  Austria.  The  Duke  had  sent  special  word 
from  London  to  have  the  fountains  in  the  park 
play  for  us,  and  we  watched  them  from  the  window. 
They  are  beautiful.  Such  nice  shower  baths  for 
the  marble  statues  on  the  terrace ! 

"  The  Prince  of  Wales  has  often  visited  Chats- 
worth,  and  a  funny  story  was  told  about  one  of 
his  visits.  It  was  after  dinner  and  the  drawing- 
room  was  full  of  people.  Whenever  Royalty  is 
present  it  is  expected  that  the  men  will  wear  all 
their  decorations.  Well,  the  Earl  of  Something- 
or-other  had  forgotten  one  of  his,  and  someone 
reported  this  fact  to  the  Prince  who  sent  for  the 
culprit  to  be  brought  before  him.  At  the  time  the 
Prince  was  seated  on  one  of  the  huge  lounges, 
on  which  only  a  giant  could  sit  and  keep  his  feet 
on  the  floor.  The  Prince  was  sitting  far  back  and 
his  feet  stuck  straight  out  in  the  air.  When  the 
guilty  man  was  brought  up  to  be  reprimanded 


IN   GLASGOW  355 

the  attitude  of  the  Prince  was  far  from  dignified. 
His  Royal  Highness  was  not  really  angry,  but 
he  told  the  poor  Earl  of  Something-or-other 
that  he  must  write  out  the  oath  of  the  Order  that 
he  had  forgotten  to  wear.  It  was  a  long  oath  and 
the  Earl's  memory  was  not  so  long." 

We  went  from  Nottingham  to  Glasgow.  The 
date,  I  find,  is  May  1,  1900.  It  was  always  Dr. 
Talmage's  custom  to  visit  the  cemetery  first,  so  we 
drove  out  to  the  grave  of  John  Knox.  In  Glasgow 
the  Doctor  preached  at  the  Cowcaddens  Free 
Church  to  the  usual  crowded  congregation,  and 
he  was  compelled  to  address  an  overflow  meeting 
from  the  steps  of  the  church  after  the  regular 
service.  The  best  part  of  Dr.  Talmage's  holiday 
moods,  which  were  as  scarce  as  he  could  make 
them  because  of  the  amount  of  work  he  was 
always  doing,  were  filled  with  the  delight  of 
watching  the  eager  interest  in  sightseeing  of  the 
two  girls,  Miss  Maud  Talmage  and  my  daughter. 
In  Glasgow  we  encountered  the  usual  wet  weather 
of  the  proverbial  Scottish  quality,  and  it  was 
Saturday  of  the  week  before  we  ventured  out  to 
see  the  Lakes.  My  daughter  naively  confesses 
the  situation  to  her  journal  as  follows  : — 

"This  a.m. — Got  up  at  the  usual  starting  hour, 
7  o'clock,  and  as  it  looked  only  dark  we  decided 
to  go.  At  breakfast  it  started  to  rain  again  and 
Mamma  and  the  Doctor  began  to  back  out,  but 
Maud  and  I  talked  to  some  advantage.  We 
argued  that  if  we  were  going  to  sit  around  waiting 
for  a  fair  day  in  this  country  we  might  just  as 
well  give  up  seeing  anything  more  interesting 
than  hotel  parlours  and  dining-rooms. 

"  We  started,  and  just  as  a  '  send  off '  the  old 
sky  opened  and  let  down  a  deluge  of  water.  It 
rained  all  the  time  we  were  on  Loch  Lomond, 
but  that  didn't  prevent  us  from  being  up  on  deck 


356  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

on  the  boat.  From  under  umbrellas  we  saw  the 
most  beautiful  scenery  in  Scotland.  Part  of  this 
trip  was  made  by  coach,  always  in  the  pouring 
rain.  We  drove  on  and  on  through  the  hills, 
seeing  nothing  but  sheep,  sheep,  sheep.  Doctor 
Talmage  asked  the  driver  what  kind  of  vegetables 
they  raised  in  the  mountains  and  the  driver 
replied — '  mutton.'  We  had  luncheon  at  a  very 
pretty  little  hotel  on  Loch  Katrine,  and  here 
boarded  a  little  steamer  launch,  'Rob  Roy,'  for 
a  beautiful  sail.  I  never,  no  matter  where  I 
travel,  expect  to  look  upon  a  lake  more  beautiful. 
The  mountains  give  wildness  and  romance  to  the 
calm  and  quiet  of  the  lake,  and  the  island.  Maud 
read  aloud  to  us  parts  of  <  The  Lady  of  the  Lake ' 
as  we  sat  out  on  deck." 

In  Edinburgh  Dr.  Talmage  preached  his  well- 
known  sermon  upon  unrequited  services,  at  the 
request  of  Lord  Kintore,  the  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Kintore,  who  had  suggested  the  theme  to  him 
some  years  before.  In  fact  the  Doctor  wrote 
this  sermon  by  special  suggestion  of  the  Earl  of 
Kintore. 

Incidents  great  and  small  were  such  a  large 
part  of  the  eventful  trip  to  Europe  that  it  is 
difficult  to  make  those  omissions  which  the  dis- 
interested reader  might  wish.  The  Doctor,  like 
ourselves,  saw  with  the  same  rose-coloured  glasses 
that  we  did.  We  were  very  pleasantly  entertained 
in  Edinburgh  by  Lord  Kintore  and  others,  but 
the  most  interesting  dinner  party  I  think  was 
when  we  were  the  guests  of  Sir  Herbert  Simpson, 
brother  of  the  celebrated  Sir  James  Y.  Simpson, 
the  man  who  discovered  the  uses  of  chloroform 
as  an  anaesthetic.  We  dined  in  the  very  room 
where  the  discovery  was  first  tested.  When  Dr. 
Simpson  had  decided  upon  a  final  experiment  of 
the  effects   of   chloroform    as   an   anaesthetic,  he 


SIR  JAMES   Y.   SIMPSON  357 

invited  three  or  four  of  his  colleagues  and  friends 
to  share  the  test  with  him.  They  met  in  the  very 
room  where  we  dined  with  Sir  Herbert  Simpson 
and  his  family.  The  story  goes  that  when  every- 
thing had  been  prepared  for  the  evening's  work, 
Dr.  Simpson  informed  "  Sandy,"  an  old  servant, 
that  he  must  not  be  disturbed  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, telling  him  not  to  venture  inside  the 
door  himself  until  5  a.m.  Then,  if  no  one  had  left 
the  room,  he  was  to  enter.  "  Sandy  "  obeyed 
these  instructions  to  the  letter,  and  came  into 
the  room  at  5  in  the  morning.  He  was  very 
much  shocked  to  find  his  master  and  the  others 
under  the  table  in  a  stupor.  "  I  never  thought 
my  master  would  come  to  this,"  said  Sandy.  He 
was  still  in  the  employ  of  the  family,  being  a 
very  old  man. 

Dr.  Talmage's  engagements  took  him  from 
Edinburgh  to  Liverpool,  where  he  preached.  It 
was  while  there  that  we  made  a  visit  to  Hawarden 
to  see  Mrs.  Gladstone.  The  Doctor  had  been  to 
Hawarden  before  as  the  guest  of  Mr.  Gladstone, 
and  was  disappointed  to  find  that  Mrs.  Gladstone 
was  too  ill  to  be  seen  by  anyone.  We  were  enter- 
tained, however,  by  Mrs.  Herbert  Gladstone.  I 
remember  how  much  the  Doctor  was  moved  when 
he  saw  in  the  hall  at  Hawarden  a  bundle  of 
walking  sticks  and  three  or  four  hats  hanging  on 
the  hat-rack,  as  Mr.  Gladstone  had  left  them 
when  he  died. 

From  Liverpool  we  went  to  Sheffield,  where  Dr. 
Talmage  preached  to  an  immense  congregation.  It 
was  in  May,  the  time  when  all  England  is  flower- 
laden,  when  the  air  is  as  sweet  as  perfume  and  the 
whole  countryside  is  as  fascinating  as  a  garden. 
It  was  the  coaching  season,  too,  and  the  Doctor 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  these  beautiful  days 
very  happily.     We  took  a  ten  days'  trip  from 


358  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

Leamington  after  leaving  Sheffield,  coaching 
through  the  exquisite  scenery  around  about 
Warwick,  Kenilworth,  and  the  Shakespeare 
country  in  Stratford-on-Avon.  Most  of  these 
reminiscences  are  full  of  incidents  too  intimate 
for  public  interest.  Like  a  dream  that  lifts  one 
from  prosaic  life  into  the  places  of  precious 
remembrance  I  recall  these  long,  happy  days  in 
the  glorious  sunset  of  his  life. 

We  returned  to  London  in  time  for  the  Doctor's 
first  preaching  engagement  there  on  May  28, 
1900.  The  London  newspapers  described  him  as 
"  The  American  Spurgeon." 

"  And  now  before  the  services  opened  at  St. 
James'  Hall  a  congregation  of  3,000  people  waited 
to  hear  Dr.  Talmage,"  says  a  London  newspaper. 
Then  it  goes  on  to  say  further  : — 

"  Dr.  Talmage,  who  has  preached  from  pulpits 
all  over  the  world,  may  be  described  as  an  '  Ameri- 
can Spurgeon.'  None  of  our  great  English 
speakers  is  less  of  an  orator.  Dr.  Talmage  is  a 
great  speaker,  but  his  power  as  an  orator  is  not 
by  any  means  that  of  a  Gladstone  or  a  Bright. 
It  lies  more  in  the  matter  than  in  the  manner, 
in  his  wonderful  imagery,  the  vividness  with 
which  he  conjures  up  a  picture  before  the  con- 
gregation. He  is  a  great  artist  in  words.  Dr. 
Talmage  affects  nothing  ;  he  is  naturalness  it- 
self in  the  pulpit,  and  the  manner  of  his  speech 
suggests  that  he  is  angry  with  his  subject.  The 
sermon  on  this  occasion  lent  itself  well  to  a  master 
of  metaphor  such  as  Dr.  Talmage,  it  being  a  re- 
view of  the  last  great  battle  of  the  world,  when 
the  forces  of  right  and  wrong  should  meet  for  the 
final  mastery." 

Dr.  Talmage  rarely  preached  this  sermon  be- 
cause it  was  a  great  tax  on  his  memory.  It  included 
a  suggestion  of  all  the  great  battles  of  the  earth,  a 


AMERICA'S   APOSTLE  359 

vivid  description  of  the  armies  of  the  world 
marching  forward  in  the  eternal  human  struggle 
of  right  against  wrong  until  they  were  masked 
for  the  last  great  battle  of  all,  when  "  Satan  would 
take  the  field  in  person,  in  whose  make-up  nothing 
bad  was  left  out,  nothing  good  was  put  in." 

It  is  very  remarkable  to  see  the  universal  ac- 
knowledgments of  the  Doctor's  genius  in  England, 
one  of  the  London  newspapers  going  so  far  as  to 
describe  him  in  its  headlines  as  "  America's 
Apostle."  Nothing  I  could  write  about  him 
could  be  more  in  eulogy,  more  in  sympathy  in 
comprehension  of  his  brilliant  sacred  message 
to  the  world.  England  proclaimed  him  as  he 
was,  with  deep  sincerity  and  reverence. 

His  favourite  sermon,  and  it  was  mine  also, 
was  upon  the  theme  of  unrequited  services,  the 
text  being  from  1  Samuel  xxx.  24,  "But  as  his 
part  is  that  goeth  down  to  the  battle,  so  shall  his 
part  be  that  tarrieth  by  the  stuff."  It  was  in 
this  sermon  that  Dr.  Talmage  made  reference  to 
Florence  Nightingale,  in  the  following  words  : — 

44  Women,  your  reward  in  the  eternal  world 
will  be  as  great  as  that  of  Florence  Nightingale, 
the  Lady  of  the  Lamp."  While  in  London  he 
preached  this  sermon,  and  the  following  day  to 
our  surprise  the  Doctor  received  the  following 
note  at  his  hotel  : — 

44  June  3,  1900. 

44  10,  South  Street, 
44  Dear  Sir—  44  Park  Lane. 

44  I  could  gladly  see  you  to-morrow  (Monday) 
at  5. — Yours  faithfully, 

44  Florence  Nightingale. 
44  T.  DeWitt  Talmage,  of  America." 

I  have  carefully  kept  the  letter  in  my  autograph 
album. 


360  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

Dr.  Talmage  and  I  called  at  the  appointed  time. 
It  was  a  beautiful  summer  day  and  we  found  the 
celebrated  woman  lying  on  a  couch  in  a  room  at 
the  top  of  the  house,  the  windows  of  which  looked 
out  on  Hyde  Park.  She  was  dressed  all  in  white. 
Her  face  was  exquisitely  spiritual,  calm,  sweet 
with  the  youth  of  a  soul  that  knew  no  age.  She 
had  never  known  that  she  had  been  called  '  The 
Lady  of  the  Lamp  '  by  the  soldiers  of  the  Crimea 
till  she  read  of  it  in  the  Doctor's  sermon.  She 
was  curious  to  be  told  all  about  it.  In  conversa- 
tion with  the  Doctor  she  made  many  inquiries 
about  America  and  the  Spanish  war,  making 
notes  on  a  pad  of  what  he  said.  The  Doctor  told 
her  that  she  looked  like  a  woman  who  had  never 
known  the  ordinary  conflicts  of  life,  as  though 
she  had  always  been  supremely  happy  and  calm 
in  her  soul.  I  remember  she  replied  that  she  had 
never  known  a  day's  real  happiness  till  she  began 
her  work  as  a  nurse  on  the  battlefield. 

"  I  was  not  always  happy,"  she  said  ;  "I  had 
my  idle  hours  when  I  was  a  girl."  I  may  not 
remember  her  exact  words,  but  this  is  the  sense 
of  them.     She  was  past  82  years  of  age  at  the  time. 

Enjoying  the  intervals  of  sight-seeing,  such  as 
the  Tower,  the  Museum,  Westminster  Abbey,  and 
the  usual  wonders  of  historical  London,  we  re- 
mained in  town  several  weeks.  I  remember  a 
visit  which  Mr.  Choate,  the  American  Ambassador, 
made  us  with  a  view  to  extending  any  courtesy 
he  could  for  the  Doctor  while  we  were  in  England. 
I  told  him  that  I  was  more  anxious  to  see  the 
British  Parliament  in  session  than  anything  else. 

"I  should  think,  as  Dr.  Talmage  has  with  him 
a  letter  from  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
this  request  could  be  arranged,"  I  said. 

Mr.  Choate  gracefully  replied  that  Dr.  Talmage 
required    no    introduction    anywhere,    not    even 


GUESTS  AT  THE  MANSION  HOUSE   361 

from  the  President,  and  arranged  to  have  the 
Charge  d'Affaires,  Mr.  White,  who  was  later 
Ambassador  to  France,  take  us  over  to  the  Houses 
of  Parliament,  where  we  were  permitted  a  glimpse 
of  the  Members  at  work  from  the  cage  enclosure 
reserved  for  lady  visitors. 

The  Doctor's  friends  in  England  did  their  best 
to  make  us  feel  at  home  in  London.  We  were 
dined  and  lunched,  and  driven  about  whenever  Dr. 
Talmage  could  spare  time  from  his  work.  Sir 
Alfred  Newton,  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  Lady 
Newton  gave  us  a  luncheon  at  the  Mansion  House 
on  June  5,  1900.  I  remember  the  date  because  it 
was  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  England.  During 
the  luncheon  the  news  reached  the  Lord  Mayor 
of  the  capture  of  Pretoria.  He  ordered  a  huge 
banner  to  be  hung  from  the  Mansion  House  on 
which  were  the  words-- 

"  The  British  Flag  Flies  at  Pretoria." 

This  was  the  first  intimation  of  the  event  given 
to  Londoners  in  that  part  of  the  city.  Side  by 
side  with  it  another  banner  proclaimed  the 
National  prayer,  "  God  Save  the  Queen,"  in  big 
red  letters  on  the  white  background.  A  scene  of 
wild  enthusiasm  and  excitement  followed.  Every 
Englishman  in  that  part  of  London,  I  believe, 
began  to  shout  and  cheer  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 
An  immense  crowd  gathered  in  the  adjoining 
streets  around  the  Mansion  House.  The  morning 
war  news  had  only  indicated  a  prolonged  struggle, 
so  that  the  capture  of  Pretoria  was  a  great  and 
joyous  surprise  to  the  British  heart.  Suddenly 
all  hats  were  off,  and  the  crowds  in  the  streets 
sang  the  National  Anthem.  There  were  loud  calls 
for  the  Lord  Mayor  to  make  a  speech.  We 
watched  it  all  from  the  windows  in  the  parlour 
of  the  Mansion  House,  at  the  corner  of  Queen 


362  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

Victoria  Street.  Dr.  Talmage  was  as  wildly  en- 
thusiastic as  any  Englishman,  cheering  and  wav- 
ing his  arm  from  the  open  windows  in  hearty 
accord  with  the  crowd  below.  There  was  no  sleep 
for  anyone  in  London  that  night.  Around  our 
hotel,  the  blowing  of  horns  and  cheering  lasted 
till  the  small  hours  of  the  morning.  It  seemed 
very  much  like  the  excitement  in  America  after 
the  capture  of  the  Spanish  Fleet. 

We  left  London  finally  with  many  regrets, 
having  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  what  is  to  me 
the  most  attractive  country  in  the  world  to  visit. 
We  went  direct  to  Paris  to  attend  the  opening 
ceremonies  of  the  Paris  Exposition  of  1900.  It 
seems  like  a  very  old  story  to  tell  anything  to-day 
of  this  event,  and  to  Dr.  Talmage  it  was  chiefly  a 
repetition  of  the  many  Fairs  he  had  seen  in  his 
life,  but  he  found  time  to  write  a  description  of 
it  at  the  time,  which  recalls  his  impressions.  He 
regarded  it  as  "  An  Object  Lesson  of  Peace  and 
a  Tableau  of  the  Millennium." 

His  defence  of  General  Peck,  the  American 
Commissioner-General,  who  was  criticised  by  the 
American  exhibitors,  was  made  at  length.  He 
considered  these  criticisms  unjust,  and  said  so. 
During  our  stay  in  Paris  Dr.  Talmage  preached  at 
the  American  churches. 

Fearing  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  secure 
rooms  in  Paris  during  the  Exposition,  the  Doctor 
had  written  from  Washington  during  the  winter 
and  engaged  them  at  the  hotel  which  a  few  years 
before  had  been  one  of  the  best  in  Paris.  Many 
changes  had  occurred  since  he  had  last  been 
abroad,  however,  and  we  found  that  the  hotel 
where  we  had  engaged  rooms  was  far  from  being 
suitable  for  us.  The  mistake  caused  some  amuse- 
ment among  our  American  friends,  who  were 
surprised  to  find  Dr.  Talmage  living  in  the  midst 


IN   COPENHAGEN  863 

of  a  Parisian  gaiety  entirely  too  promiscuous  for 
his  calling.  We  soon  moved  away  from  this  zone 
of  oriental  music  and  splendour  to  a  quieter  and 
more  remote  hotel  in  the  Rue  Castiglione. 

Dr.  Talmage  was  restless,  however,  to  reach  the 
North  Cape  in  the  best  season  to  see  the  Midnight 
Sun  in  its  glory,  and  we  only  remained  in  Paris 
a  few  days,  going  from  there  to  the  Hague, 
Amsterdam,  and  thence  to  Copenhagen  in  Den- 
mark. In  all  the  cities  abroad  we  were  always 
the  guests  of  the  American  Embassy  one  evening 
during  our  stay,  and  this  frequently  led  to 
private  dinner  parties  with  some  of  the  prominent 
residents,  which  the  Doctor  greatly  enjoyed, 
because  it  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  know  the 
foreign  people  in  their  homes.  I  remember  one  of 
these  invitations  particularly  because  as  we  drove 
into  the  grounds  of  our  host's  home  he  ordered  the 
American  flag  to  be  hoisted  as  we  entered.  The 
garden  was  beautiful  with  a  profusion  of  yellow 
blossoms,  a  national  flower  in  Denmark  known 
as  "  Golden  Rain."  We  admired  them  so  much 
that  our  host  wanted  to  present  me  with  sprigs 
of  the  trees  to  plant  in  our  home  at  East 
Hampton.  Dr.  Talmage  said  he  was  sure  that 
they  would  not  grow  out  there  so  near  the 
sea.  Remembering  Judge  Collier's  grounds  in 
Pittsburg,  where  every  sort  of  flower  grows, 
I  suggested  that  they  would  thrive  there.  Our 
host  took  my  father-in-law's  address,  and  to-day 
this  "  Golden  Rain "  of  Denmark  is  growing 
beautifully  in  his  garden  in  Pittsburg. 

We  saw  and  explored  Copenhagen  thoroughly. 
The  King  of  Denmark  was  absent  from  the  capital, 
but  we  stood  in  front  of  his  palace  with  the  usual 
interest  of  visitors,  little  expecting  to  be  enter- 
tained there,  as  afterwards  we  were.  It  all  came 
as  a  surprise. 


364  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

We  were  on  our  way  to  the  station  to  leave 
Copenhagen,  when  Mr.  Swenson,  the  American 
Minister,  overtook  us  and  informed  us  that  the 
Crown  Prince  and  Princess  desired  to  receive  Dr. 
Talmage  and  his  family  at  the  summer  palace. 
Though  it  may  be  at  the  risk  of  Use  majeste  to  say 
it,  some  persuasion  was  necessary  to  induce  the 
Doctor  to  remain  over.  Our  trunks  were  already 
at  the  station  and  Dr.  Talmage  was  anxious  to  get 
up  to  the  North  Cape.  However,  the  American 
Minister  finally  prevailed  upon  the  Doctor  to 
consider  the  importance  of  a  request  from  royalty, 
and  we  went  back  to  the  hotel  into  the  same  rooms 
we  had  just  left. 

Our  presentation  took  place  the  next  day  at  the 
summer  palace,  which  is  five  miles  from  Copen- 
hagen. It  was  the  most  informally  delightful 
meeting.  The  formalities  of  royalty  that  are 
sometimes  made  to  appear  so  overwhelming  to 
the  ordinary  individual,  were  so  gracefully  inter- 
woven by  the  Crown  Prince  and  the  Princess  with 
cordiality  and  courtesy,  that  we  were  as  perfectly 
at  ease,  as  if  there  had  been  crowns  hovering  over 
our  own  heads.  The  royal  children  were  all 
present,  too,  and  we  talked  and  walked  and 
laughed  together  like  a  family  party.  The  Crown 
Princess  said  to  me,  "  Come,  let  me  show  you  my 
garden,"  and  we  strolled  in  the  beautiful  grounds. 
The  Crown  Prince  said,  "  Come,  let  me  show  you 
my  den,"  and  there  gave  us  the  autographs 
of  himself  and  the  Princess.  We  left  regretfully. 
As  we  drove  away  the  royal  party  were  gathered 
at  the  front  windows  of  the  palace  waving  their 
handkerchiefs  to  us  in  graceful  adieus.  I  remem- 
ber my  little  daughter  was  very  much  surprised 
with  the  simplicity  of  the  whole  affair,  saying  to 
me  as  we  drove  away,  "  Why,  it  was  just  like 
visiting  Grandpa's  home." 


AT   NANSEN'S   HOME  365 

On  our  way  to  Trondhjem  from  Copenhagen  we 
stayed  over  a  few  days  at  Christiania,  where  we 
were  the  guests  of  Nansen,  the  Arctic  explorer. 
His  home,  which  stood  out  near  the  water's 
edge,  was  like  a  bungalow  made  of  pine  logs. 
There  were  no  carpets  on  the  floors,  which  were 
covered  with  the  skins  of  animals  he  had  himself 
killed.  Trophies  of  all  sorts  were  in  evidence. 
It  was  a  very  memorable  afternoon  with  the  simple, 
brave,  scientific  Nansen. 

At  Trondhjem  we  took  the  steamer  "  Kong 
Harald  "  for  the  North  Cape.  A  party  of  American 
friends  had  just  returned  from  there  with  the 
most  lugubrious  story  about  the  bad  weather  and 
their  utter  failure  to  see  the  sun.  As  it  was 
pouring  rain  when  we  started,  it  would  not  have 
taken  much  persuasion  to  induce  us  to  give  it  all 
up.  But  we  had  started  with  a  purpose,  and  silently 
but  firmly  we  went  on  with  it.  Dr.  Talma ge 
never  turned  back  at  any  cross  road  in  his  whole 
life.  In  a  few  hours  after  leaving  Trondhjem  we 
were  in  the  raw,  cold  Arctic  temperature  where 
a  new  order  of  existence  begins. 

We  lose  all  sense  of  ordinary  time,  for  our  watches 
indicate  midnight,  and  there  is  no  darkness.  The 
over-hanging  clouds  draw  slowly  apart,  and  the 
most  brilliant,  dazzling  midnight  sun  covers  the 
waters  and  sets  the  sky  on  fire.  It  neither  rises 
from  the  horizon  or  sinks  into  it.  It  stays  per- 
fectly, immovably  still.  After  a  while  it  rises  very 
slowly.  The  meals  on  board  are  as  irregular  as  the 
time ;  they  are  served  according  to  the  adaptability 
of  one's  appetite  to  the  strangeness  of  the  new 
element  of  constant  daytime.  We  scarcely  want 
to  sleep,  or  know  when  to  do  so.  Fortunately  our 
furs  are  handy,  for  there  is  snow  and  ice  on  the 
wild,  barren  rocks  on  either  side  of  us. 

On  July  1,  at  8  p.m.,  we  sighted  this  northern- 


366  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

most  land,  the  Cape,  and  were  immediately 
induced  to  indulge  in  cod  fishing  from  the  decks  of 
our  steamer.  It  is  the  custom,  and  the  cod  seem  to 
accept  the  situation  with  perverse  indiscretion, 
for  many  of  them  are  caught.  Our  lines  and  bait 
are  provided  by  sailors.  Dinner  is  again  delayed 
to  enable  us  to  indulge  in  this  sport,  but  we  don't 
mind  because  we  have  lost  all  the  habitual  ten- 
dencies of  our  previous  normal  state. 

At  10  p.m.,  in  a  bright  daylight,  the  small  boats 
full  of  passengers  begin  to  leave  the  steamer  for 
the  shore.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  we  are  landed 
at  the  base  of  that  towering  Cape.  There  are  some 
who  doubt  the  wisdom  of  Dr.  Talmage's  attempt- 
ing to  climb  at  his  age.  He  has  no  doubts,  however, 
and  no  one  expresses  them  to  him.  He  is  among 
the  first  to  take  the  staff,  handed  to  him  as  to  all 
of  us,  and  starts  up  at  his  usual  brisk,  striding 
gait.  It  is  a  test  of  lungs  and  heart,  of  skill  and 
nerve  to  climb  the  North  Cape,  and  let  no  one 
attempt  it  who  is  unfitted  for  the  task.  Steep 
almost  as  the  side  of  a  house,  rocky  as  an  unused 
pathway,  it  is  a  feat  to  accomplish.  We  were  the 
first  party  of  the  season  to  go  up,  and  the  paths 
had  not  been  entirely  cleared  of  snow,  which  was 
two  and  three  feet  deep  in  places,  the  path  itself 
sometimes  a  narrow  ledge  over  a  precipice.  A 
rope  guard  was  the  only  barrier  between  us  and 
a  slippery  catastrophe.  Every  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  we  sat  down  to  get  our  breath.  It  took 
us  two  hours  to  reach  the  top.  It  was  a  few 
minutes  after  midnight  when  the  sun  came  out 
gloriously. 

Coming  down  was  much  more  perilous,  but  we 
got  back  in  safety  to  the  "  Kong  Harald  "  at  2  a.m. 
On  our  way  down  to  Trondhjem  we  celebrated  the 
Fourth  of  July  on  board.  The  captain  decorated 
the  ship  for  the  occasion  and  we  all  tried  to  sing 


PREACHING   IN   SWEDEN  367 

"  The  Star  Spangled  Banner,"  but  we  eould  not 
remember  the  words,  much  to  our  mutual  sur- 
prise and  finally  we  compromised  by  singing 
"  America,"  and,  worst  of  all,  "  Yankee  Doodle." 
Dr.  Talmage  made  a  very  happy  address,  and  we 
came  into  port  finally,  pledged  to  learn  the  words 
of  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner  "  before  the  year 
was  up. 

In  our  haste  to  reach  the  North  Cape  we  had 
passed  hurriedly  through  Sweden,  so,  on  our 
return  we  went  from  Trondhjem  to  Stockholm, 
where  we  arrived  on  July  7,  1900. 

When  in  London  Dr.  Talmage  had  accepted  an 
invitation  to  preach  in  the  largest  church  in 
Sweden,  with  some  misgiving,  because,  as  he 
himself  said  when  asked  to  do  this,  "  Shall  I  have 
an  audience  ?  "  Of  course  the  Doctor  did  not 
speak  the  Swedish  language.  Dr.  Talmage  had 
been  told  in  England  that  his  name  was  known 
through  all  Sweden,  which  was  a  fact  fully  sus- 
tained by  a  publisher  in  Stockholm  who  came  to 
the  hotel  one  afternoon  and  brought  copies  of 
ten  of  the  Doctor's  books  translated  into  Swedish. 
This  insured  a  cordial  greeting  for  the  Doctor, 
but  how  was  he  to  make  himself  understood  ? 

The  Immanuel  Church  in  Stockholm,  one  of  the 
largest  I  ever  saw,  with  two  galleries  and  three 
aisles,  was  filled  to  its  capacity.  Dr.  Talmage  was 
to  preach  through  an  interpreter,  himself  a  fore- 
most preacher  in  his  own  country.  The  Doctor 
had  preached  through  interpreters  three  times  in 
his  life  ;  once  when  a  theological  student  addres- 
sing a  congregation  of  American  Indians,  once  in 
a  church  in  Hawaii,  and  once  in  Ceylon  through 
an  interpreter  standing  on  each  side  of  him,  one 
to  translate  into  Cingalese,  and  the  other  to  trans- 
late into  Hindustan.  No  one  who  was  present  at 
that  morning  Sabbath  service  on  July  8,   1900, 


368  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

will  forget  the  strange  impressions  that  translated 
sermon  preached  by  Dr.  Talmage  made  upon 
everyone.  Sentence  by  sentence  the  brilliant 
interpreter  repeated  the  Doctor's  words  in  the 
Swedish  language,  while  the  congregation  in 
eager  silence  studied  Dr.  Talmage' s  face  while 
listening  to  the  translation  of  his  ideas. 

"  Whether  I  did  them  any  good  or  not  they 
did  me  good,"  said  the  Doctor  after  the  service. 

While  in  Stockholm  we  dined  with  Mr.  Wynd- 
ham,  Secretary  of  the  American  Legation,  and 
were  shown  through  the  private  rooms  of  the 
royal  palace,  of  which  my  daughter  took  snap- 
shots with  surreptitious  skill.  The  Queen  was 
a  great  invalid  and  scarcely  ever  saw  anyone, 
but  while  driving  to  her  summer  palace  we  caught 
a  glimpse  of  her  being  lifted  from  her  little  horse, 
on  which  she  had  been  riding,  seated  in  a  sort  of 
armchair  saddle.  With  a  groom  to  lead  the  horse 
Her  Majesty  took  the  air  every  day  in  this  way. 
She  was  a  very  frail  little  woman. 

From  Stockholm  we  started  by  steamer  for  St. 
Petersburg,  but  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  we 
found  our  staterooms  impossible,  and  we  dis- 
embarked at  Alba,  the  first  capital  in  Finland. 
We  were  curious  to  see  the  new  capital,  Helsing- 
fors,  and  stopped  over  a  day  or  two  there.  From 
Helsingfors  we  went  by  rail  to  the  Russian  capital. 

Dr.  Talmage  had  been  in  Russia  years  before, 
on  the  occasion  of  his  presentation  of  a  shipload 
of  flour  from  the  American  people  to  the  famine 
sufferers.  At  that  time  he  had  been  presented 
to  Emperor  Alexander  III.,  as  well  as  the 
Dowager  Empress.  It  was  his  intention  to  pay 
his  respects  again  to  the  new  Emperor,  whose 
father  he  had  known,  so  that  we  looked  forward 
to  our  stay  in  St.  Petersburg  as  eventful.  The 
Crown  Prince  of  Denmark  had  urged  the  Doctor 


AN  INVITATION  FROM  THE  CZAR  369 

to  see  his  brother-in-law,  the  Czar,  while  in  St. 
Petersburg,  and  we  learned  later  that  he  had 
written  a  letter  to  the  Court  concerning  our 
coming  to  St.  Petersburg. 

On  July  23,  1900,  we  received  the  following  note 
from  Dr.  Pierce,  the  American  Charge  d'Affaires 
in  St.  Petersburg  : — 

"  July  23,  1900. 
"  Embassy  of  the  United  States, 
St.  Petersburg. 

"  Dear  Dr.  Talmage — 

14  I  take  much  pleasure  in  informing  you  that 
you  and  Mrs.  Talmage  and  your  daughters  will 
be  received  by  Their  Majesties  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  on  Wednesday  next,  at  2 J  p.m. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  Herbert  H.  D.  Pierce. 

"  P.S. — I  will  let  you  know  the  details  later." 

Mr.  Pierce  called  in  full  court  dress  and  in- 
formed Dr.  Talmage  that  it  would  be  necessary  for 
him  to  appear  in  like  regalia.  As  the  Doctor  was 
not  accustomed  to  wearing  swords,  or  cocked 
hats,  or  brass  buttons  on  his  coat,  he  received 
these  instructions  with  some  distress  of  mind. 
Later,  we  received  from  the  Grand  Master  of 
Ceremonies  of  the  Russian  Court  a  formal  invita- 
tion to  be  presented  at  Peterhof,  the  summer 
palace. 

On  Wednesday,  July  25,  1900,  I  find  this 
irreverent  entry  in  my  American  girl's  diary  : — 

"  I  can't  think  of  any  words  sufficiently  high 
sounding  with  which  to  begin  the  report  of  this 
day,  so  shall  simply  write  about  breakfast  first, 
and  gradually  lead  up  to  the  great  event.  In  spite 
of  the  coming  honour  and  the  present  excitement 
we  all  ate  a  hearty  breakfast." 

2  B 


370  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

"As  our  train  was  to  leave  for  Peterhof  about 
noon  we  spent  the  morning  dressing. 

"  After  all,"  writes  my  irreverent  daughter  in 
her  diary,  "  dressing  for  royalty  is  not  more  im- 
portant than  dressing  for  a  dance  or  dinner.  It 
can't  last  for  much  over  an  hour.  When  we  had 
everything  on  we  sat  opposite  each  other  as  stiff 
as  pokers — waiting." 

My  daughter  took  a  snapshot  picture  of  us 
while  waiting.  Mrs.  Pierce  had  kindly  given  us 
some  instructions  about  curtseying  and  backing 
away  from  royalty,  a  ceremony  which  neither 
the  Czar  nor  the  Czarina  imposed  upon  us,  how- 
ever. The  trip  to  Peterhof  was  made  on  one  of 
the  Imperial  cars.  The  distance  by  rail  from  St. 
Petersburg  was  only  half-an-hour.  A  gentleman 
from  the  American  Embassy  rode  with  us.  We 
were  met  at  the  station  by  footmen  in  royal 
livery  and  conducted  to  a  carriage  with  the 
Imperial  coat-of-arms  upon  it.  Sentinels  in 
grey  coats  saluted  us. 

We  were  driven  first  to  the  Palace  of  Peterhof, 
where  more  footmen  in  gold  lace,  and  two  other 
officials  in  gorgeous  uniform,  conducted  us  inside, 
through  a  corridor,  past  a  row  of  bowing 
servants,  into  a  dining-room  where  the  table  was 
set  for  luncheon,  with  gold  and  silver  plates,  cut 
glass  and  rare  china.  A  more  exquisite  table 
setting  I  never  saw.  Three  dressing-rooms 
opened  off  this  big  room,  and  these  we  promptly 
appropriated. 

The  luncheon  was  perfect,  though  we  would 
have  enjoyed  it  better  after  the  strain  of  our 
presentation  had  been  over.  The  four  different 
kinds  of  wine  were  not  very  liberally  patronised 
by  any  of  our  party.  After  luncheon  we  were 
driven  through  the  royal  park  which  was  literally 
filled  with    mounted    Cossacks   on  guard  every- 


GUESTS   OF   ROYALTY  371 

where,  to  the  abode  of  the  Emperor.  Through 
another  double  line  of  liveried  servants  we  were 
ushered  into  a  small  room  where  the  Master  of 
Ceremonies  and  a  lady-in-waiting  greeted  us. 
We  waited  about  five  minutes  when  an  officer 
came  to  the  Doctor  and  took  him  to  see  the 
Emperor.  A  little  later  we  were  ushered  into 
another  room  into  the  presence  of  the  Empress 
of  Russia.  She  came  forward  very  graciously 
with  outstretched  hands  to  meet  us.  The  Czarina 
is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw,  aristo- 
cratic, simple,  extremely  sensitive.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  black  silk  gown  with  white  polka  dots. 
Slightly  taller  than  the  Czar,  the  Empress  was 
most  affable,  girlish  in  her  manner.  As  she  talked 
the  colour  came  and  went  on  her  pale,  fair  cheeks, 
and  she  gave  me  the  impression  of  being  a  very 
sensitive,  reserved,  exquisitely  rare  nature.  Her 
smile  had  a  charming  yet  half  melancholy 
radiance.  We  all  sat  down  and  talked.  I  re- 
member the  little  shiver  with  which  the 
Empress  spoke  of  a  race  in  the  Orient  whom  she 
disliked. 

"  They  would  stab  you  in  the  back,"  she  said, 
her  voice  fading  almost  to  a  whisper.  She  looked 
to  be  about  twenty-eight  years  old.  Once  when 
we  thought  it  was  time  to  go,  and  had  started  to 
make  our  adieus,  the  Czarina  kept  on  talking, 
urging  us  to  stay.  She  talked  of  America  chiefly, 
and  told  us  how  enthusiastic  her  cousin  was  who 
had  just  returned  from  there.  When,  finally,  we 
did  leave  we  were  spared  the  dreaded  ceremony 
of  backing  out  of  the  room,  for  the  Empress 
walked  with  us  to  the  door,  and  shook  hands  in 
true  democratic  American  fashion. 

Dr.  Talmage's  interview  with  thej  Czar  was 
quite  as  cordial.  The  Emperor  expressed  his 
faith  in  the  results  of  the  Peace  movement   at 


372  THE  THIRD   MILESTONE 

the  Hague,  for  he  was  himself  at  peace  with  all 
the  world.  During  the  interview  the  Doctor  was 
asked  many  questions  by  the  Emperor  about  the 
heroes  of  the  Spanish  war,  especially  concerning 
Admiral  Dewey.  His  Majesty  laughed  heartily 
at  the  Doctor's  story  of  a  battle  in  which  the  only 
loss  of  life  was  a  mule. 

"  How  many  important  things  have  happened 
since  we  met,"  the  Czar  said  to  the  Doctor  ;  "I 
was  twenty-four  when  you  were  here  before,  now 
I  am  thirty-two.  My  father  is  gone.  My  mother 
has  passed  through  three  great  sorrows  since  you 
were  here — the  loss  of  my  father,  of  my  brother, 
and  during  this  last  year  of  her  own  mother,  the 
Queen  of  Denmark.  She  wishes  to  see  you  in  her 
own  palace." 

The  Czar  is  about  five  feet  ten  in  height,  is  very 
fair,  with  blue  eyes,  and  seemed  full  of  kindness 
and  good  cheer. 

As  we  were  leaving,  word  came  from  the 
Dowager  Empress  that  she  would  see  us,  and 
we  drove  a  mile  or  two  further  through  the  royal 
park  to  her  palace.  She  greeted  Dr.  Talmage  with 
both  hands  outstretched,  like  an  old  friend. 
Though  much  smaller  in  stature  than  the  Empress 
of  Russia,  the  Dowager  Empress  was  quite  as 
impressive  and  stately.  She  was  dressed  in 
mourning.  Her  room  was  like  a  corner  in  Para- 
dise set  apart  from  the  grim  arrogance  of  Imperial 
Russia.  It  was  filled  with  exquisite  paintings, 
sweet  with  a  profusion  of  flowers  and  plants. 
She  seemed  genuinely  happy  to  see  the  Doctor, 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  when  he  spoke  of 
the  late  Emperor,  her  husband.  At  her  neck 
she  was  wearing  a  miniature  portrait  of  him  set 
in  diamonds.  Very  simply  she  took  it  off  to 
show  to  us,  saying,  "  This  is  the  best  picture  ever 
taken  of  my  husband.     It  is  such  a  pleasure  to 


WITH  THE  DOWAGER  EMPRESS   373 

see  you,  Dr.  Talmage,  I  heard  of  your  being  in 
Europe  from  my  brother  in  Denmark." 

The  Dowager  Empress  was  full  of  remembrances 
of  the  Doctor's  previous  visit  to  Russia,  eight 
years  before. 

"  How  did  you  like  the  tea  service  which  my 
husband  sent  you  ?  "  she  asked  Dr.  Talmage  ;  "  I 
selected  it  myself.  It  is  exactly  like  a  set  we  use 
ourselves." 

The  informal  charm  of  the  Empress's  manner 
was  most  friendly  and  kind. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  handful  of  flowers  I 
picked  for  you,  and  asked  you  to  send  them  to 
your  family  ?  "  she  said. 

"  You  stood  here,  my  husband  there,  and  I 
with  my  smaller  children  stood  here.  How  well 
I  remember  that  day  ;    but,  oh,  what  changes  !  " 

The  Dowager  Empress  invited  us  to  come  to 
her  palace  next  day  and  meet  the  Queen  of  Greece, 
her  niece  by  marriage,  and  her  sister-in-law  who 
was  visiting  Russia  just  then,  but  we  were  obliged 
to  decline  because  of  previous  plans.  Very 
graciously  she  wrote  her  autograph  for  us  and 
promised  to  send  me  her  photograph,  which  later 
on  I  received .  We  were  driven  back  to  the  station 
in  the  Imperial  carriage,  where  a  representative 
of  the  American  Embassy  met  us  and  rode  back 
to  St.  Petersburg  with  us. 

So  ended  a  day  of  absorbing  interest  such  as  I 
shall  never  experience  again.  There  is  a  touch 
of  humour  always  to  the  most  important  events 
in  life.  I  shall  never  forget  Dr.  Talmage's  real 
distress  when  he  found  that  the  sword  which  he 
had  borrowed  from  Mr.  Pierce,  the  Charge 
d' Affaires  of  the  American  Embassy,  had  become 
slightly  bent  in  the  course  of  its  royal  adventure. 
I  can  see  his  look  of  anxiety  as  he  tried  to 
straighten  it  out,  and  was  afraid  he  couldn't.    He 


374  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

always  abhorred  borrowed  things  and  hardly  ever 
took  them.  Fortunately,  the  sword  was  not 
seriously  damaged. 

Our  objective  point  after  leaving  Russia  was 
Ober-Ammergau,  where  Dr.  Talmage  wanted  to 
witness  the  Passion  Play.  We  travelled  in  that 
direction  by  easy  stages,  going  from  St.  Peters- 
burg first  to  Moscow,  where  we  paid  a  visit  to 
Tolstoi's  house.  From  Moscow  we  went  to 
Warsaw,  and  thence  to  Berlin.  The  Doctor 
seemed  to  have  abandoned  himself  completely 
to  the  lure  of  sightseeing  by  this  time.  Churches, 
picture  galleries,  museums  were  our  daily  diet. 
While  in  Berlin  we  returned  from  a  drive  one 
day  to  the  hotel  and  found  ourselves  the  objects 
of  unusual  solicitude  and  attention  from  the  hotel 
proprietor  and  his  servants.  With  many  obse- 
quious bows  we  were  informed  that  the  Russian 
Ambassador  had  called  upon  us  in  our  absence, 
and  had  informed  the  hotel  people  that  he  had  a 
special  package  from  the  Czar  to  deliver  to  me. 
He  left  word  that  he  would  be  at  the  hotel  at 
2  p.m.  the  following  day  to  carry  out  his  Imperial 
Master's  instructions.  At  the  time  appointed  the 
next  day  the  Russian  Ambassador  called  and 
formally  presented  to  me,  in  the  name  of  the 
Emperor,  a  package  that  had  been  sent  by  special 
messenger.  I  immediately  opened  it  and  found 
a  handsome  Russian  leather  case.  I  opened  that, 
and  inside  found  the  autographs  of  the  Emperor 
and  Empress  of  Russia,  written  on  separate  sheets 
of  their  royal  note  paper. 

We  had  a  very  good  time  in  Berlin.  The 
presence  of  Sousa  and  his  band  there  gave  it  an 
American  flavour  that  was  very  delightful.  The 
Doctor's  interest  was  really  centred  in  visiting 
the  little  town  of  Wiirttemberg,  famous  for  its 
Luther    history.      Dr.    Dickey,    Pastor    of    the 


OBER-AMMERGAU  375 

American  Church  in  Berlin,  became  our  guide 
on  the  day  we  visited  the  haunts  of  Luther.  One 
day  we  went  through  the  Kaiser's  Palace  at 
Potsdam,  where  my  daughter  managed  to  use 
her  kodak  with  good  effect. 

From  Berlin  we  went  to  Vienna,  and  thence  to 
Munich,  arriving  at  the  little  village  of  Ober- 
Ammergau  on  August  25,  1900. 

Dr.  Talmage's  impressions  of  the  Passion  Play, 
which  he  wrote  at  Ober-Ammergau  on  this 
occasion,  were  never  published  in  this  country, 
and  I  herewith  include  them  in  these  last  mile- 
stones of  his  life. 

The  Passion  Play  at  Ober-Ammergau 
By  Rev.   T.  DeWiit    Talmage,  D.D. 

About  fifteen  years  ago  the  good  people  of 
America  were  shocked  at  the  proposition  to  put 
on  the  theatrical  stage  of  New  York  the  Passion 
Play,  or  a  dramatic  representation  of  the  suffer- 
ings of  Christ.  It  was  to  be  an  imitation  of  that 
which  had  been  every  ten  years,  since  1634, 
enacted  in  Ober-Ammergau,  Germany.  Every 
religious  newspaper  and  most  of  the  secular 
journals,  and  all  the  pulpits,  denounced  the 
proposition.  It  would  be  an  outrage,  a  sacrilege, 
a  blasphemy.  I  thought  so  then  ;  I  think  so 
now.  The  attempt  of  ordinary  play  actors  amid 
worldly  surroundings,  and  before  gay  assemblages, 
to  portray  the  sufferings  of  Christ  and  His 
assassination  would  have  been  a  horrible  indecency 
that  would  have  defied  the  heavens  and  invoked 
a  plague  worse  than  that  for  the  turning  back  of 
which  the  Passion  Play  at  Ober-Ammergau  was 
established.  We  might  have  suggested  for  such 
a  scene  a  Judas,  or  a  Caiaphas,  or  a  Pilate,  or  a 


376  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

Herod.     But  who  would  have  been  the  Christ  ? 

The  Continental  protest  which  did  not  allow 
the  curtain  of  that  exhibition  to  be  hoisted  was 
right,  and  if  a  similar  attempt  should  ever  be 
made  in  America  I  hope  it  may  be  as  vehemently 
defeated.  But  as  certain  individuals  may  have 
an  especial  mission  which  other  individuals  are 
not  caused  to  exercise,  so  neighbourhoods  and 
provinces  and  countries  may  have  a  call  peculiar 
to  themselves. 

Whether  the  German  village  of  Ober- Ammergau 
which  I  have  just  been  visiting,  may  have  such 
an  especial  ordination,  I  leave  others  to  judge 
after  they  have  taken  into  consideration  all  the 
circumstances.  The  Passion  Play,  as  it  was 
proposed  for  the  theatrical  stage  in  New  York, 
would  have  been  as  different  from  the  Passion 
Play  as  we  saw  it  at  Ober- Ammergau  a  few  days 
ago  as  midnight  is  different  from  mid-noon. 

Ober- Ammergau  is  a  picture-frame  of  hills. 

The  mountains  look  down  upon  the  village, 
and  the  village  looks  up  to  the  mountains.  The 
river  Ammer,  running  through  the  village,  has 
not  recovered  from  its  race  down  the  steeps,  and 
has  not  been  able  to  moderate  its  pace.  Like 
an  arrow,  it  shoots  past.  Through  exaltations 
and  depressions  of  the  rail  train,  and  on  ascending 
and  descending  grades,  we  arrived  at  the  place 
of  which  we  had  heard  and  read  so  much.  The 
morning  was  as  glorious  as  any  other  morning 
that  was  let  down  out  of  the  heavens.  Though 
many  thousands  of  people  from  many  quarters 
of  the  earth  had  lodged  that  night  in  Ober- 
Ammergau,  the  place  at  dawn  was  as  silent  as  a 
hunter's  cabin  in  any  of  the  mountains  of  Bavaria. 
The  Ammergauers  are  a  quiet  people.  They  speak 
in  low  tones,  and  are  themselves  masters  of  the 
art  of  silence.    Their  step,  as  well  as  their  voice, 


THE   PASSION   PLAY  377 

is  quiet.  Reverence  and  courtesy  are  among 
their  characteristics.  Though  merry  enough, 
and  far  from  being  dolorous,  I  think  the  most  of 
them  feel  themselves  called  to  a  solemn  duty, 
that  in  some  later  time  they  will  be  called  to  take 
part  in  absorbing  solemnities,  for  about  700 
performers  appear  in  the  wonderful  performance  ; 
there  are  only  about  1,400  inhabitants. 

While  the  morning  is  still  morning,  soon  after 
7  o'clock,  hundreds  and  thousands  of  people, 
nearly  all  on  foot,  are  moving  in  one  direction, 
so  that  you  do  not  have  to  ask  for  the  place  of 
mighty  convocation.  Through  fourteen  large 
double  doors  the  audience  enter.  Everything  in 
the  immense  building  is  so  plain  that  nothing 
could  be  plainer,  and  the  seats  are  cushionless, 
a  fact  which  becomes  thoroughly  pronounced 
after  you  have  for  eight  hours,  with  only  brief 
intermissions,  been  seated  on  them. 

All  is  expectancy  ! 

The  signal  gun  outside  the  building  sounds 
startlingly.  We  are  not  about  to  witness  an 
experiment,  but  to  look  upon  something  which 
has  been  in  preparation  and  gathering  force  for 
two  hundred  and  sixty-six  years.  It  was  put  upon 
the  stage  not  for  financial  gain  but  as  a  prayer 
to  God  for  the  removal  of  a  Destroying  Angel 
which  had  with  his  wings  swept  to  death  other 
villages,  and  was  then  destroying Ober-Ammergau. 
It  was  a  dying  convulsion  in  which  Widowhood 
and  Orphanage  and  Childlessness  vowed  that  if 
the  Lord  should  drive  back  that  Angel  of  Death, 
then  every  ten  years  they  would  in  the  most 
realistic  and  overwhelming  manner  show  the 
world  what  Christ  had  done  to  save  it. 

They  would  reproduce  His  groan.  They  would 
show  the  blood-tipped  spear.  They  would  depict 
the  demoniac  grin  of  ecclesiastics  who  gladly  heard 


378  THE    THIRD    MILESTONE 

perjurers  testify  against  the  best  Friend  the 
world  ever  had,  but  who  declined  to  hear  any- 
thing in  His  defence.  They  would  reproduce  the 
spectacle  of  silence  amid  wrong  ;  a  silence  with 
not  a  word  of  protest,  or  vindication,  or  beseech- 
ment ;  a  silence  that  was  louder  than  the  thunder 
that  broke  from  the  heavens  that  day  when  at 
12  o'clock  at  noon  was  as  dark  as  12  o'clock  at 
night. 

Poets  have  been  busy  for  many  years  putting 
the  Passion  Play  into  rhythm.  The  Bavarian 
Government  had  omitted  from  it  everything 
frivolous.  The  chorus  would  be  that  of  drilled 
choirs.  Men  and  women  who  had  never  been  out 
of  the  sight  of  the  mountains  which  guarded  their 
homes  would  do  with  religious  themes  what  the 
David  Garricks  and  the  Macreadys  and  the 
Ristoris  and  the  Charlotte  Cushmans  did  with 
secular  themes.  On  a  stage  as  unpretentious  as 
foot  ever  trod  there  would  be  an  impersonation 
that  would  move  the  world.  The  greatest 
tragedyof  all  times  would  find  fit  tragedian.  We 
were  not  there  that  August  morning  to  see  an 
extemporised  performance.  As  long  ago  as  last 
December  the  programme  for  this  stupendous 
rendering  was  all  made  out.  No  man  or  woman 
who  had  the  least  thing  objectionable  in  character 
or  reputation  might  take  part. 

The  Passion  Council,  made  up  of  the  pastor  of 
the  village  church  and  six  devout  members, 
together  with  the  Mayor  and  ten  councillors 
selected  for  their  moral  worth,  assembled.  After 
special  Divine  service,  in  which  heaven's  direction 
was  sought,  the  vote  was  taken,  and  the  following 
persons  were  appointed  to  appear  in  the  more 
important  parts  of  the  Passion  Play  :  Rochus 
Lang,  Herod ;  John  Zwink,  Judas ;  Andreas 
Braun,     Joseph    of     Arimathea ;     Bertha    Wolf, 


GREAT   ACTORS  379 

Magdalen  ;  Sebastian  Baur,  Pilate  ;  Peter  Rendi, 
John ;  William  Rutz,  Nicodemus ;  Thomas 
Rendi,  Peter ;  Anna  Flunger,  Mary ;  Anton 
Lang,   Christ. 

The  music  began  its  triumphant  roll,  and  the 
curtains  were  divided  and  pulled  back  to  the 
sides  of  the  stage.  Lest  we  repeat  the  only 
error  in  the  sacred  drama,  that  of  prolixity,  we 
will  not  give  in  minutiae  what  we  saw  and  heard. 
The  full  text  of  the  play  is  translated  and  pub- 
lished by  my  friend,  the  Reverend  Doctor  Dickey, 
pastor  of  the  American  Church  of  Berlin,  and  takes 
up  169  pages,  mostly  in  fine  print. 

I  only  describe  what  most  impressed  me. 

There  is  a  throng  of  people  of  all  classes  in  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem,  by  look  and  gesture  in- 
dicating that  something  wonderful  is  advancing. 
Acclamations  fill  the  air.  The  crowd  parts 
enough  to  allow  Christ  to  pass,  seated  on  the 
side  of  a  colt,  which  was  led  by  the  John  whom 
Jesus  especially  loved.  The  Saviour's  hands  are 
spread  above  the  throng  in  benediction,  while  He 
looks  upon  them  with  a  kindness  and  sympathy 
that  win  the  love  of  the  excited  multitude. 
Arriving  at  the  door  of  the  Temple,  Jesus  dismounts 
and,  walking  over  the  palm  branches  and  gar- 
ments which  are  strewn  and  unrolled  in  His  way, 
He  enters  the  Temple,  and  finds  that  parts  of 
that  sacred  structure  are  turned  into  a  market- 
place, with  cages  of  birds  and  small  droves  of 
lambs  and  heifers  which  the  dealers  would  sell  to 
those  who  wanted  to  make  a  "  live  offering  "  in 
the  Temple.  Indignation  gathers  on  the  counten- 
ance of  Christ  where  gentleness  had  reigned.  He 
denounces  these  merchants,  who  stood  there 
over-reaching  in  their  bargains  and  exorbitantly 
outrageous  in  their  charges.  The  doors  of  the 
cages  holding  the  pigeons  are  opened,  and  in  their 


880  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

escape  they  fly  over  the  stage  and  over  the 
audience.  The  table  on  which  the  exchangers 
had  been  gathering  unreasonable  percentage  was 
thrown  down,  and  the  coin  rattled  over  the  floor, 
and  the  place  was  cleared  of  the  dishonest  in- 
vaders, who  go  forth  to  plot  the  ruin  and  the 
death  of  Him  who  had  so  suddenly  expelled  them. 

The  most  impressive  character  in  all  the  sacred 
drama  is  Christ. 

The  impersonator,  Anton  Lang,  seems  by 
nature  far  better  fitted  for  this  part  than  was  his 
predecessor,  Josef  Mayr,  who  took  that  part  in 
1870,  1880,  and  1890.  Mayr  is  very  tall,  brawny, 
athletic.  His  hair  was  black  in  those  days,  and 
his  countenance  now  is  severe.  He  must  have 
done  it  well,  but  I  can  hardly  imagine  him  im- 
personating gentleness  and  complete  submission 
to  abuse.  But  Anton  Lang,  with  his  blonde 
complexion,  his  light  hair,  blue  eyes  and  delicate 
mouth,  his  exquisiteness  of  form  and  quietness 
of  manner,  is  just  like  what  Raphael  and  many  of 
the  old  masters  present.  When  we  talked  with 
Anton  Lang  in  private  he  looked  exactly  as  he 
looked  in  the  Passion  Play.  This  is  his  first  year 
in  the  Christ  character,  and  his  success  is  beyond 
criticism.  In  his  trade  as  a  carver  of  wood  he 
has  so  much  to  do  in  imitating  the  human 
countenance  that  he  understands  the  full  power 
of  expression.  The  way  he  listens  to  the  unjust 
charges  in  the  court  room,  his  bearing  when  the 
ruffians  bind  him,  and  his  manner  when,  by  a 
hand,  thick-gloved  so  as  not  to  get  hurt,  a  crown 
of  thorns  was  put  upon  his  brow,  and  the  officers 
with  long  bands  of  wood  press  it  down  upon  the 
head  of  the  sufferer,  all  show  that  he  has  a  talent 
to  depict  infinite  agony. 

No  more  powerful  acting  was  ever  seen  on  the 
stage  than  that  of  John  Zwink,  the  Judas.     In 


JUDAS  381 

repose  there  is  no  honester  face  in  Ober-Ammer- 
gau  than  his.  Twenty  years  ago  he  appeared  in 
the  Passion  Play  as  St.  John  ;  one  would  suppose 
that  he  would  do  best  in  a  representation  of 
geniality  and  mildness.  But  in  the  character 
of  Judas  he  represents,  in  every  wrinkle  of  his 
face,  and  in  every  curl  of  his  hair,  and  in  every 
glare  of  his  eye,  and  in  every  knuckle  of  his  hand 
with  which  he  clutches  the  money  bag,  hypocrisy 
and  avarice  and  hate  and  low  strategy  and  dia- 
bolism. The  quickness  with  which  he  grabs  the 
bribe  for  the  betrayal  of  the  Lord,  the  villainous 
leer  at  the  Master  while  seated  at  the  holy  supper, 
show  him  to  be  capable  of  any  wickedness.  What 
a  spectacle  when  the  traitorous  lips  are  pressed 
against  the  pure  cheek  of  the  Immaculate  One, 
the  disgusting  smack  desecrating  the  holy  symbol 
of  love. 

But  after  Judas  has  done  his  deadly  work  then 
there  comes  upon  him  a  remorse  and  terror  such 
as  you  have  never  seen  depicted  unless  you  have 
witnessed  the  Passion  Play  at  the  foot  of  the 
Bavarian  mountains.  His  start  at  imaginary 
sounds,  his  alarm  at  a  creaking  door,  his  fear  at 
nothing,  the  grinding  teeth  and  the  clenched  fist 
indicative  of  mental  torture,  the  dishevelled 
hair,  the  beating  of  his  breast  with  his  hands,  the 
foaming  mouth,  the  implication,  the  shriek,  the 
madness,  the  flying  here  and  there  in  the  one 
attempt  to  get  rid  of  himself,  the  horror  increased 
at  his  every  appearance,  whether  in  company  or 
alone,  regarded  in  contrast  with  the  dagger  scene 
of  "  Macbeth  "  makes  the  latter  mere  child's  play. 
That  day,  John  Zwink,  in  the  character  of  Judas, 
preached  fifty  sermons  on  the  ghastliness  of  be- 
trayal. The  fire-smart  of  ill-gotten  gain,  the  iron- 
beaked  vulture  of  an  aroused  conscience  ;  all  the 
bloodhounds  of  despair  seemed  tearing  him.  Then, 


382  THE  THIRD  MILESTONE 

when  he  can  endure  the  anguish  no  longer,  he 
loosens  the  long  girdle  from  his  waist  and 
addresses  that  girdle  as  a  snake,  crying  out : — 

"  Ha  !  Come,  thou  serpent,  entwine  my  neck 
and  strangle  the  betrayer,"  and  hastily  ties  it 
about  his  neck  and  tightens  it,  then  rushes  up  to 
the  branch  of  a  tree  for  suicide,  and  the  curtain 
closes  before  the  4,000  breathless  auditors. 

Do  I  approve  of  the  Passion  Play  at  Ober- 
Ammergau  ? 

My  only  answer  is  that  I  was  never  so  impressed 
in  all  my  life  with  the  greatness  of  the  price  that 
was  paid  for  the  redemption  of  the  human  race. 
The  suffering  depicted  was  so  awful  that  I  cannot 
now  understand  how  I  could  have  endured 
looking  upon  its  portrayal.  It  is  amazing  that 
thousands  in  the  audience  did  not  faint  into  a 
swoon  as  complete  as  that  of  the  soldiers  who  fell 
on  the  stage  at  the  Lord's  reanimation  from 
Joseph's  mausoleum. 

Imagine  what  it  would  be  to  see  a  soldier 
seemingly  thrust  a  spear  into  the  Saviour's  side, 
and  to  see  the  crimson  rush  from  the  laceration. 

Would  I  see  it  acted  again  ?  No.  I  would  not 
risk  my  nerves  again  under  the  strain  of  such  a 
horror.     One  dreams  of  it  nights  after. 

When  Christ  carrying  His  cross  falls  under  it, 
and  you  see  Him  on  His  hands  and  knees,  His 
forehead  ensanguined  with  the  twisted  brambles, 
and  Veronica  comes  to  Him  offering  a  handker- 
chief to  wipe  away  the  tears,  and  sweat  and 
blood,  your  own  forehead  becomes  beaded  with 
perspiration.  As  the  tragedy  moves  on,  solemnity 
is  added  to  solemnity.  Not  so  much  as  a  smile 
in  the  eight  hours,  except  the  slight  snicker  of 
some  fool,  such  as  is  sure  to  be  found  in  all 
audiences,  when  the  cock  crew  twice  after  Peter 
had  denied  him  thrice. 


CHRIST'S   AGONY  383 

What  may  seem  strange  to  some,  I  was  as 
much  impressed  with  Christ's  mental  agony  as 
with  his  physical  pangs.  Oh  !  what  a  scene  when 
in  Gethsemane  He  groaned  over  the  sins  of  the 
world  for  which  He  was  making  expiation,  until 
the  angelic  throngs  of  heaven  were  so  stirred  by 
His  impassioned  utterance  that  one  of  their 
white-winged  number  came  out  and  down  to 
comfort  the  Angel  of  the  New  Covenant ! 

Some  of  the  tableaux  or  living  pictures  between 
the  acts  of  this  drama  were  graphic  and  thrilling, 
such  as  Adam  and  Eve  expelled  from  arborescence 
into  homelessness  ;  Joseph,  because  of  his  pictur- 
esque attire  sold  into  serfdom,  from  which  he 
mounts  to  the  Prime  Minister's  chair  ;  the  palace 
gates  shut  against  Queen  Vashti  because  she 
declines  to  be  immodest ;  manna  snowing  down 
into  the  hands  of  the  hungry  Israelites  ;  grapes  of 
Eshcol  so  enormous  that  one  cluster  is  carried  by 
two  men  on  a  staff  between  them ;  Naboth 
stoned  to  death  because  Ahab  wants  his  vineyard  ; 
blind  Samson  between  the  pillars  of  the  Temple 
of  Dagon,  making  very  destructive  sport  for  his 
enemies.  These  tableaux  are  chiefly  intended  as 
a  breathing  spell  between  the  acts  of  the  drama. 
The  music  rendered  requires  seven  basses  and 
seven  tenors,  ten  sopranos  and  ten  contraltos. 
Edward  Lang  has  worked  thirty  years  educating 
the  musical  talent  of  the  village.  The  Passion 
Play  itself  is  beyond  criticism,  though  it  would 
have  been  mightier  if  two  hours  less  in  its  per- 
formance.   The  subtraction  would  be  an  addition. 

The  drama  progresses  from  the  entering  into 
Jerusalem  to  the  condemnation  by  the  Sanhedrim, 
showing  all  the  world  that  crime  may  be  com- 
mitted according  to  law  as  certainly  as  crime 
against^the  law. 

Oh,  the  hard-visaged  tribunal;     countenances 


384  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

as  hard  as  the  spears,  as  hard  as  the  spikes,  as 
hard  as  the  rocks  under  which  the  Master  was 
buried !  Who  can  hear  the  metallic  voice  of  that 
Caiaphas  without  thinking  of  some  church  court 
that  condemned  a  man  better  than  themselves  ? 
Caiaphas  is  as  hateful  as  Judas.  Blessed  is  that 
denomination  of  religionists  which  has  not  more 
than  one  Caiaphas! 

On  goes  the  scene  till  we  reach  the  goodby  of 
Mary  and  Christ  at  Bethany.  Who  will  ever  for- 
get that  woman's  cry,  or  the  face  from  which 
suffering  has  dried  the  last  tear  ?  Who  would 
have  thought  that  Anna  Flunger,  the  maiden  of 
twenty-five  years,  could  have  transformed  her 
fair  and  happy  face  into  such  concentration  of 
gloom  and  grief  and  woe  ?  Mary  must  have 
known  that  the  goodbye  at  Bethany  was  final, 
and  that  the  embrace  of  that  Mother  and  Son  was 
their  last  earthly  embrace.  It  was  the  saddest 
parting  since  the  earth  was  made,  never  to  be 
equalled  while  the  earth  stands. 

What  groups  of  sympathetic  women  trying  to 
comfort  her,  as  only  women  can  comfort ! 

On  goes  the  sacred  drama  till  we  come  to  the 
foot-washing.  A  few  days  before,  while  we  were 
in  Vienna,  we  had  explained  to  us  the  annual 
ceremony  of  foot  washing  by  the  Emperor  of 
Austria.  It  always  takes  place  at  the  close  of 
Lent.  Twelve  very  old  people  are  selected  from 
the  poorest  of  the  poor.  They  are  brought  to  the 
palace.  At  the  last  foot-washing  the  youngest 
of  the  twelve  was  86  years  of  age,  and  the  oldest 
92.  The  Imperial  family  and  all  those  in  high 
places  gather  for  this  ceremony.  An  officer 
precedes  the  Emperor  with  a  basin  of  water.  For 
many  days  the  old  people  have  been  preparing 
for  the  scene.  The  Emperor  goes  down  on  one 
knee  before  each  one  of  these  venerable  people, 


THE   FOOT   WASHING  385 

puts  water  on  the  arch  of  the  foot  and  then  wipes 
it  with  a  towel.  When  this  is  done  a  rich  provision 
of  food  and  drink  is  put  before  each  one  of  the 
old  people,  but  immediately  removed  before 
anything  is  tasted.  Then  the  food  and  the  cups 
and  the  knives  and  the  forks  are  put  in  twelve 
sacks  and  each  one  has  his  portion  allotted  him. 
The  old  people  come  to  the  foot-washing  in  the 
Emperor's  carriage  and  return  in  the  same  way, 
and  they  never  forget  the  honour  and  splendour 
of  that  occasion. 

Oh,  the  contrast  between  that  foot-washing 
amid  pomp  and  brilliant  ceremony  and  the  imi- 
tated foot-washing  of  our  Lord  at  Ober-Ammer- 
gau.  Before  each  one  of  the  twelve  Apostles 
Christ  comes  down  so  slowly  that  a  sigh  of  emotion 
passes  through  the  great  throng  of  spectators. 
Christ  even  washes  the  feet  of  Judas.  Was  there 
in  all  time  or  eternity  past,  or  will  there  be  in 
all  time  or  eternity  to  come,  such  a  scene  of  self- 
abnegation  ?  The  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth 
stooping  to  such  a  service  which  must  have 
astounded  the  heavens  more  than  its  dramatisa- 
tion overpowered  us!  What  a  stunning  rebuke 
to  the  pride  and  arrogance  and  personal  ambition 
of  all  ages! 

The  Hand  of  God  on  Human  Foot  in  Ablution  ! 

No  wonder  the  quick-tempered  Peter  thought 
it  incongruous,  and  forbade  its  taking  place, 
crying  out :  "  Thou  shalt  never  wash  my  feet  !  " 
But  the  Lord  broke  him  down  until  Peter 
vehemently  asked  that  his  head  and  his  hands  be 
washed  as  well  as  his  feet. 

During  eight  hours  on  that  stage  it  seems  as 
though  we  were  watching  a  battle  between  the 
demons  of  the  Pit  and  the  seraphs  of  Light,  and  the 
demons  triumph.  Eight  hours  telling  a  sadness, 
with  every  moment  worse    than  its  predecessor. 

2  c 


386  THE   THIRD   MILESTONE 

All  the  world  against  Him,  and  hardly  any 
let  up  so  that  we  feel  like  leaving  our  place 
and  rushing  for  the  stage  and  giving  con- 
gratulations with  both  hands  to  Simon  of  Cyrene 
as  he  lightens  the  Cross  from  the  shoulder  of  the 
sufferer,  and  to  Nicodemus  who  voted  an  em- 
phatic "No"  at  the  condemnation,  and  to  Joseph 
of  Arimathea  who  asks  the  honour  of  being 
undertaker  at  the  obsequies. 

Scene  after  scene,  act  after  act,  until  at  the 
scourging  every  stroke  fetches  the  blood  ;  and 
the  purple  mantle  is  put  upon  Him  in  derision, 
and  they  slap  His  face  and  they  push  Him  off 
the  stool  upon  which  He  sits,  laughing  at  His  fall. 
On,  until  from  behind  the  curtain  you  hear  the 
thumping  of  the  hammers  on  the  spikes  ;  on, 
until  hanging  between  two  bandits,  He  pledges 
Paradise  within  twenty-four  hours  to  the  one, 
and  commits  His  own  broken-hearted  mother  to 
John,  asking  him  to  take  care  of  her  in  her  old  age; 
and  His  complaint  of  thirst  brings  a  sponge 
moistened  with  sour  wine  on  the  end  of  a  staff  ; 
and  blasphemy  has  hurled  at  Him  its  last  curse, 
and  malice  has  uttered  concerning  Him  its  last 
lie,  and  contempt  has  spit  upon  Him  its  last  foam, 
and  the  resources  of  perdition  are  exhausted,  and 
from  the  shuddering  form  and  white  lips  comes 
the  exclamation,  "  It  is  finished  !  " 

At  that  moment  there  resounded  across  the 
river  Ammer  and  through  the  village  of  Ober- 
Ammergau  a  crash  that  was  responded  to  by  the 
echoes  of  the  Bavarian  mountains.  The  rocks 
tumbled  back  off  the  stage,  and  the  heavens 
roared  and  the  graves  of  the  dead  were  wrecked, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  earth  itself  had  foundered 
in|its  voyage  through  the  sky.  The  great  audience 
almostjleaped  to  its  feet  at  the  sound  of  that 
tempest  and  earthquake. 


THE   GREAT   FINALE  387 

Look  !  the  ruffians  are  tossing  dice  for  the 
ownership  of  the  Master's  coat.  The  darkness 
thickens.  Night,  blackening  night.  Hark  !  The 
wolves  are  howling  for  the  corpse  of  the  slain 
Lord.  Then,  with  more  pathos  and  tenderness 
than  can  be  seen  in  Rubens'  picture,  "  Descent 
from  the  Cross,"  in  the  cathedral  at  Antwerp,  is 
the  dead  Christ  lowered,  and  there  rises  the  wailing 
of  crushed  motherhood,  and  with  solemn  tread 
the  mutilated  body  is  sepulchred.  But  soon  the 
door  of  the  mausoleum  falls  and  forth  comes  the 
Christ  and,  standing  on  the  shoulder  of  Mount 
Olivet,  He  is  ready  for  ascension.  Then  the 
44  Hallelujah  Chorus  "  from  the  700  voices  before 
and  behind  the  scenes  closes  the  most  wonderful 
tragedy  ever  enacted. 

As  we  rose  for  departure  we  felt  like  saying  with 
the  blind  preacher,  whom  William  Wirt,  the 
orator  of  Virginia,  heard  concluding  his  sermon  to 
a  backwoods  congregation  : 

44  Socrates  died  like  a  philosopher,  but  Jesus 
died  like  a  God  !  " 

I  have  been  asked  whether  this  play  would 
ever  be  successfully  introduced  into  America  or 
England.  I  think  there  is  some  danger  that  it 
may  be  secularised  and  turned  into  a  mercenary 
institution.  Instead  of  the  long  ride  by  carriages 
over  rough  mountain  roads  for  days  and  days, 
as  formerly  was  necessary  in  order  to  reach 
Ober-Ammergau,  there  are  now  two  trains  a  day 
which  land  tourists  for  the  Passion  Play,  and 
among  them  may  appear  some  American  theatri- 
cal manager  who,  finding  that  John  Zwink  of 
Ober-Ammergau  impersonates  the  spirit  of  grab 
and  cheat  and  insincerity  better  than  any  one 
who  treads  the  American  stage,  and  only  received 
for  his  wonderful  histrionic  ability  what  equals 
forty-five  pounds  sterling  for  ten  years,  may  offer 


388  THE  THIRD  MILESTONE 

him  five  times  as  much  compensation  for  one 
night.  If  avarice  could  clutch  Judas  with  such  a 
relentless  grasp  at  the  offer  of  thirty  pieces  of 
silver,  what  might  be  the  proportionate  tempta- 
tion of  a  thousand  pieces  of  gold ! 

The  impression  made  upon  Dr.  Talmage  by  the 
Passion  Play  was  stirring  and  reverent.  He  des- 
cribed it  as  one  of  the  most  tremendous  and 
fearful  experiences  of  his  life. 

"  I  have  seen  it  once,  but  I  would  not  see  it 
again,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  dare  risk  my  nerves 
to  such  an  awful,  harrowing  ordeal.  Accustomed 
as  I  am  to  think  almost  constantly  on  all  that  the 
Bible  means,  the  Passion  Play  was  an  unfolding, 
a  new  and  thrilling  interpretation,  a  revelation. 
I  never  before  realised  the  capabilities  of  the 
Bible  for  dramatic  representation." 

We  went  from  Ober-Ammergau  to  that  modern 
Eden  for  the  overwrought  nerves  of  kings  and 
commoners — Baden-baden,  where  we  spent  ten 
days.  At  the  end  of  this  time  we  returned  to  Paris 
to  enjoy  the  Exposition  at  our  leisure.  Paris  is 
always  a  place  of  brightness  and  pleasure.  King 
Leopold  of  Belgium  was  among  the  distinguished 
guests  of  the  French  capital,  whom  we  saw  one 
day  while  driving  in  the  Bois.  We  made  visits  to 
Versailles  and  the  palace  of  Fontainebleau.  The 
Doctor  enjoyed  these  trips  into  the  country,  and 
always  manged  to  make  his  arrangements  so  that 
he  could  go  with  us.  From  Paris  we  went  to 
London  for  a  farewell  visit.  Dr.  Talmage  had 
promised  to  preach  in  John  Wesley's  chapel  in  the 
City  Road,  known  as  "  The  Cathedral  of 
Methodism." 

On  Sunday,  September  30,  1900,  the  crowd  was 
so  great  that  had  come  to  hear  Dr.  Talmage  that  a 
cordon  of  police  was  necessary  to  guard  the  big 
iron  gates  after  the  church  was  filled.   The  text  of 


STOPPING  TRAFFIC  IN  LONDON     389 

his  sermon  that  day  was  significant.  It  may  have 
been  a  conception  of  his  own  life  work — its  text. 
It  was  taken  from  a  passage  in  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  Daniel  : — 

"  The  people  that  do  know  their  God  shall  be 
strong  and  do  exploits." 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  the  enthusiasm  that 
Dr.  Talmage  aroused  everwhere,  of  the  immense 
crowds  that  gathered  to  see  and  hear  him.  During 
our  stay  in  London  this  time,  after  a  preaching 
service  in  a  church  in  Piccadilly,  the  wheels  of  our 
carriage  were  seized  and  we  were  like  a  small 
island  in  a  black  sea  of  restless  men  and  women. 
The  driver  couldn't  move.  The  Doctor  took  it 
with  great  delight  and  stood  up  in  the  carriage, 
making  an  address.  From  where  he  was  standing 
he  could  not  see  the  police  charging  the  crowd  to 
scatter  them.  When  he  did,  he  realised  that  he  was 
aiding  in  obstructing  the  best  regulated  thorough- 
fare in  London.  Stopping  his  address,  he  said, 
"  We  must  recognise  the  authority  of  the  law," 
and  sat  down.  It  was  said  that  Dr.  Talmage  was 
the  only  man  who  had  ever  stopped  the  traffic  in 
Piccadilly. 

From  London  Dr.  Talmage  and  I  went  together 
for  a  short  visit  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  later  to 
Swansea  where  he  preached;  we  left  the  girls 
with  Lady  Lyle,  at  Sir  John  Lyle's  house  in 
London. 

It  had  become  customary  whenever  the  Doctor 
made  an  address  to  ask  me  to  sit  on  the  platform, 
and  in  this  way  I  became  equal  to  looking  a  big 
audience  in  the  face,  but  one  day  the  Doctor 
over-estimated  my  talents.  He  came  in  with  more 
than  his  usual  whir,  and  said  to  me  : 

ic  Eleanor,  I  have  been  asked  if  you  won't 
dedicate  a  new  building  at  the  Wood  Green 
Wesleyan   Church  in  North   London.      I  said   I 


890  THE  THIRD  MILESTONE 

thought  you  would,  and  accepted  for  you.  Won't 
you  please  do  this  for  me  ?  " 

There  was  no  denying  him,  and  I  consented, 
provided  he  would  help  me  with  the  address. 
He  did,  and  on  the  appointed  day  when  we  drove 
out  to  the  place  I  had  the  notes  of  my  speech  held 
tightly  crumpled  in  my  glove.  There  was  the  usual 
crowd  that  had  turned  out  to  hear  Dr.  Talmage 
who  was  to  preach  afterwards,  and  I  was  genuinely 
frightened.  I  remember  as  we  climbed  the  steps 
to  the  speaker's  platform,  the  Doctor  whispered 
to  me,  "  Courage,  Eleanor,  what  other  women 
have  done  you  can  do."  I  almost  lost  my  equili- 
brium when  I  was  presented  with  a  silver  trowel 
as  a  souvenir  of  the  event.  There  was  nothing 
about  a  silver  trowel  in  my  notes.  However,  the 
event  passed  off  without  any  calamity  but  it  was 
my  first  and  last  appearance  in  public. 

As  the  time  approached  for  us  to  return  to 
America  the  Doctor  looked  forward  to  the  day  of 
sailing.  It  had  all  been  a  wonderful  experience 
even  to  him  who  had  for  so  many  years  been  in 
the  glare  of  public  life.  He  had  reached  the  highest 
mark  of  public  favour  as  a  man,  and  as  a  preacher 
was  the  most  celebrated  of  his  time.  I  wonder 
now,  as  I  realise  the  strain  of  work  he  was  under, 
that  he  gave  me  so  little  cause  for  anxiety  con- 
sidering his  years.  He  was  a  marvel  of  health  and 
strength.  There  may  have  been  days  when  his 
genius  burned  more  dimly  than  others,  and  often 
I  would  ask  him  if  the  zest  of  his  work  was  as 
great  if  he  was  a  bit  tired,  hoping  that  he  would 
yield  a  little  to  the  trend  of  the  years,  but  he  was 
as  strong  and  buoyant  in  his  energies  as  if  each 
day  were  a  new  beginning.  His  enjoyment  of  life 
was  inspiring,  his  hold  upon  the  beauty  of  it 
never  relaxed. 

From  London  we  went  to  Belfast,  on  a  very 


IN   IRELAND  391 

stormy  day.  Dr.  Talmage  was  advised  to  wait  a 
while,  but  he  had  no  fear  of  anything.  That 
crossing  of  the  Irish  Channel  was  the  worst  sea 
trip  I  ever  had.  We  arrived  in  Belfast  battered 
and  ill  from  the  stormy  passage,  all  but  the  Doctor, 
who  went  stoically  ahead  with  his  engagements 
with  undiminished  vigour.  Going  up  in  the  eleva- 
tor of  the  hotel  one  day,  we  met  Mrs.  Langtry. 
Dr.  Talmage  had  crossed  the  ocean  with  her. 

"  Won't  you  come  and  see  my  play  to-night  ?  " 
she  asked  him. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Madame,  but  I  am  speaking 
myself  to-night,"  said  the  Doctor  courteously. 
He  told  me  afterwards  how  fortunate  he  felt  it 
to  be  that  he  was  able  to  make  a  real  excuse. 
Invitations  to  the  theatre  always  embarrassed 
him. 

From  Belfast  we  went  to  Cork  for  a  few  days, 
making  a  trip  to  the  Killarney  lakes  before  sailing 
from  Queenstown  on  October  18,  1900,  on  the 
"  Oceanic." 

"  Isn't  it  good  to  be  going  back  to  America, 
back  to  that  beautiful  city  of  Washington,"  said 
the  Doctor,  the  moment  we  got  on  board. 

Whatever  he  was  doing,  whichever  way  he  was 
going,  he  was  always  in  pursuit  of  the  joy  of 
living.  Although  the  greatest  year  of  my  life  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  it  all  seemed  then  like  an 
achievement  rather  than  a  farewell,  like  the 
beginning  of  a  perfect  happiness,  the  end  of  which 
was  in  remote  perspective. 


THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

1900—1902 

There  was  no  warning  of  the  divine  purpose  ; 
there  was  no  pause  of  weakness  or  illness  in  his 
life  to  foreshadow  his  approaching  end.  Until 
the  last  sunset  hours  of  his  useful  days  he  always 
seemed  to  me  a  man  of  iron.  He  had  stood  in  the 
midst  of  crowds  a  towering  figure  ;  but  away 
from  them  his  life  had  been  a  studied  annihilation, 
an  existence  of  hidden  sacrifice  to  his  great  work. 
He  used  to  say  to  me  :  "  Eleanor,  I  have  lived 
among  crowds,  and  yet  I  have  been  much  of  the 
time  quite  alone."  But  alone  or  in  company  his 
mind  was  ever  active,  his  great  heart  ever  intent 
on  his  apostolate  of  sunshine  and  help  towards 
his  fellow-men.  And  the  good  things  he  said  were 
not  alone  the  utterances  of  his  public  career  ; 
they  came  bubbling  forth  as  from  a  spring  during 
the  course  of  his  daily  life,  in  his  home  and  among 
his  friends,  even  with  little  children.  Books  have 
been  written  styled,  "  Conversations  of  Eminent 
Men "  ;  and  I  have  often  thought  had  his 
ordinary  conversations  been  reported,  or,  better, 
could  the  colossal  crowds  who  admired  him  have 
been,  as  we,  his  privileged  listeners,  they  would 
have  been  no  less  charmed  with  his  brilliant  talk 
than  with  the  public  displays  of  eloquence  with 
which  they  were  so  captivated. 

392 


THE  DIVINE  PURPOSE  393 

Immediately  after  his  return  from  Europe  in 
the  autumn  of  1900,  Dr.  Talmage  took  up  his 
work  with  renewed  vigour  and  enthusiasm.  He 
stepped  back  into  his  study  as  if  a  new  career  of 
preaching  awaited  him.  Never,  indeed,  had  a 
Sunday  passed,  since  our  union,  on  which  he  had 
not  given  his  divine  message  from  the  pulpit ; 
never  had  he  missed  a  full,  arduous,  wearisome 
day's  work  in  his  Master's  vineyard.  But  I 
think  Dr.  Talmage  now  wrote  and  preached  more 
industriously  and  vigorously  than  I  had  ever 
seen  him  before.  His  work  had  become  so  im- 
portant an  element  in  the  character  of  American 
life,  and  in  the  estimate  of  the  American  people 
— I  might  add,  in  that  of  many  foreign  peoples, 
too — that  his  consciousness  of  it  seemed  to  double 
and  treble  his  powers  ;  he  was  carried  along  on  a 
great  wave  of  enthusiasm  ;  and  in  the  joy  of  it 
all,  we,  with  the  thousands  who  bowed  before 
his  influence,  looked  naturally  for  a  great  many 
years  of  a  life  of  such  wide-spread  usefulness. 
Over  him  had  come  a  new  magic  of  autumnal 
youth  and  strength  that  touched  the  inspirations 
of  his  mind  and  increased  the  optimism  of  his 
heart.  No  one  could  have  suspected  that  the 
golden  bowl  was  so  soon  to  be  broken  ;  that  the 
pitcher,  still  so  full  of  the  refreshing  draughts  of 
wisdom,  was  about  to  be  crushed  at  the  fountain. 
But  so  it  was  to  be. 

Invigorated  by  his  delightful  foreign  trip,  Dr. 
Talmage  now  resumed  his  labours  with  happy 
heart  and  effervescing  zeal.  He  used  to  say  :  "I 
don't  care  how  old  a  man  gets  to  be,  he  never 
ought  to  be  over  eighteen  years  of  age."  And  he 
seemed  now  to  be  a  living  realisation  of  his  words. 
He  had  given  up  his  regular  pastorate  at  the  First 
Presbyterian  Church  in  Washington,  that  he 
might  devote  himself  to  broader  responsibilities, 


394  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

which  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  him  because 
of  his  world-wide  reputation.  I  cannot  forbear 
quoting  here — as  it  reveals  so  much  the  character 
of  the  man — a  portion  of  his  farewell  letter,  the 
mode  he  took  of  giving  his  parting  salutation : 

4 'The  world  is  full  of  farewells,  and  one  of  the 
hardest  words  to  utter  is  goodby.  What  glorious 
Sabbaths  we  have  had  together !  What  holy 
communions  !  What  thronged  assemblages  ! 
Forever  and  forever  we  will  remember  them.  .  .  . 
And  now  in  parting  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness 
to  me  and  mine.  I  have  been  permitted,  Sabbath 
by  Sabbath,  to  confront,  with  the  tremendous 
truths  of  the  Gospel,  as  genial  and  lovely,  and 
cultivated  and  noble  people  as  I  ever  knew,  and 
it  is  a  sadness  to  part  with  them.  .  .  .  May  the 
richest  blessing  of  God  abide  with  you  !  May  your 
sons  and  daughters  be  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
the  Lord  Almighty  !  And  may  we  all  meet  in  the 
heavenly  realms  to  recount  the  divine  mercies 
which  have  accompanied  us  all  the  way,  and  to 
celebrate,  world  without  end,  the  grace  that  enabled 
us  to  conquer  !  And  now  I  give  you  a  tender,  a 
hearty,  a  loving,  a  Christian  goodby. 

"  T.  DeWitt  Talmage." 

Apart  from  his  active  literary  and  editorial 
work,  he  was  now  to  devote  himself  to  sermons 
and  lectures  which  should  have  for  audience  the 
whole  country.  As  a  consequence,  on  re-entering 
his  study  after  his  long  absence,  he  found  accumu- 
lated on  his  desk  an  immense  number  of  invita- 
tions to  preach,  applications  from  all  parts  of  the 
land.  He  smiled,  and  expressed  more  than  once 
his  conviction  that  God's  Providence  had  marked 
out  his  way  for  him,  and  here  was  direct  proof  of 
His  divine  call  and  His  fatherly  love. 

At  a  monster  meeting  in  New  York  this  year 


REVIVAL  OF  RELIGION  895 

Dr.  Talmage  revived  national  interest  in  his 
presence  and  his  Gospel.  Ten  thousand  people 
crowded  to  the  Academy  of  Music  to  hear  his 
words  of  encouragement  and  hope.  It  was  the 
twentieth  anniversary  of  the  Bowery  Mission,  of 
which  Dr.  Talmage  was  one  of  the  founders. 
44  This  century,"  he  said  in  part,  "is  to  witness 
a  great  revival  of  religion.  Cities  are  to  be  re- 
deemed. Official  authority  can  do  much,  but 
nothing  can  take  the  place  of  the  Gospel  of  God. 
.  .  .  No  man  goes  deliberately  into  sin  ;  he  gets 
aboard  the  great  accommodation  train  of  Tempta- 
tion, assured  that  it  will  stop  at  the  depot  of 
Prudence,  or  anywhere  else  he  desires,  to  let  him 
off.  The  conductor  cries  :  4  All  aboard  '  and 
off  he  goes.  The  train  goes  faster  and  faster,  and 
presently  he  wants  to  get  off.  4  Stop  '  !  he  calls 
to  the  conductor  ;  but  that  official  cries  back  : 
4  This  is  the  fast  express  and  does  not  stop  until 
it  reaches  the  Grand  Central  Station  of  Smash- 
upton.'  "  The  sinner  can  be  raised  up,  he  insists. 
44  The  Bible  says  God  will  forgive  490  times.  At 
your  first  cry  He  will  bend  down  from  his  throne 
to  the  depths  of  your  degradation.  Put  your 
face  to  the  sunrise." 

Faith  in  God  was  his  armour  ;  his  shield  was 
hope  ;  his  amulet  was  charity.  He  harnessed  the 
events  of  the  world  to  his  chariot  of  inspiration, 
and  sped  on  his  way  as  in  earlier  years.  He  had 
become  a  foremost  preacher  of  the  Gospel  because 
he  preached  under  the  spell  of  evangelical  impulse, 
under  the  control  of  that  remarkable  faith  which 
comes  with  the  transformation  of  all  converted 
men  or  women.  The  stillness  of  the  vast  crowds 
that  stood  about  the  church  doors  when  he 
addressed  them  briefly  in  the  open  air  after 
services  was  a  tribute  to  the  spell  he  cast  over 
them  by  the  miracle  of  that  converting  grace. 


396  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

He  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  attention  he 
attracted  outside  the  pulpit,  on  the  street,  in  the 
trains.  His  celebrity  was  not  the  consequence  of 
his  endeavours  to  obtain  it,  nor  was  it  won,  as 
some  declared,  by  studied  dramatic  effects  ;  it 
was  the  result  of  his  moments  of  inspiration, 
combined  with  continual  and  almost  superhuman 
mental  labour — labour  that  was  a  fountain  of 
perennial  delight  to  him,  but  none  the  less 
labour. 

If  "  Genius  is  infinite  patience,"  as  a  French 
writer  said,  Dr.  Talmage  possessed  it  in  an 
eminent  degree.  Every  sermon  he  ever  wrote  was 
an  output  of  his  full  energies,  his  whole  heart  and 
mind  ;  and  while  dictating  his  sermons  in  his 
study,  he  preached  them  before  an  imaginary 
audience,  so  earnest  was  his  desire  to  reach  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers  and  produce  upon  them  a 
lasting  influence.  His  sermons  were  born  not  of 
the  crowd,  but  for  the  crowd,  in  deep  religious 
fervour  and  conviction.  His  lectures,  incisive 
and  far-reaching  as  they  were  in  their  conceptions 
and  in  their  moral  and  social  effects,  wrere  not  so 
impressive  as  his  sermons,  with  their  undertone 
of  divine  inspiration. 

In  accord  with  an  invitation  sent  to  us  in  Paris, 
from  the  Governor  of  Pennsylvania,  we  went  to 
Harrisburg  as  the  guests  at  the  Executive 
Mansion,  where  a  dinner  and  reception  were  given 
Dr.  Talmage  in  honour  of  his  return  from  abroad. 
During  this  dinner,  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Wesley 
Hill,  then  pastor  of  the  church  in  Harrisburg  in 
which  Dr.  Talmage  preached,  told  us  of  a  rare 
autograph  letter  of  Lincoln,  which  he  owned.  It 
was  his  wish  that  Dr.  Talmage  should  have  it  in 
his  house,  where  he  thought  more  people  would 
see  it.  The  next  day,  Dr.  Hill  sent  this  letter  to 
us  : — 


A  GREAT  WELCOME  397 

"  Gentlemen, — In  response  to  your  address, 
allow  me  to  attest  the  accuracy  of  its  historical 
statements  ;  indorse  the  sentiments  it  expresses  ; 
and  thank  you,  in  the  nation's  name,  for  the  sure 
promise  it  gives. 

"  Nobly  sustained  as  the  government  has  been 
by  all  the  churches,  I  would  utter  nothing  which 
might,  in  the  least,  appear  invidious  against  any. 
Yet,  without  this,  it  may  fairly  be  said  that  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  not  less  devoted 
than  the  best,  is,  by  its  greater  numbers,  the  most 
important  of  all.  It  is  no  fault  in  others  that  the 
Methodist  Church  sends  more  soldiers  to  the  field, 
more  nurses  to  the  hospitals,  and  more  prayers  to 
Heaven  than  any.  God  bless  the  Methodist 
Church — bless  all  the  churches — and  blessed  be 
God,  Who,  in  this  our  great  trial,  giveth  us  the 
churches. 

"  A.  Lincoln. 

"  May  18th,  1864." 

A  great  welcome  was  given  Dr.  Talmage  in 
Brooklyn,  in  November,  1900,  when  he  preached 
in  the  Central  Presbyterian  Church  there.  It 
was  the  Doctor's  second  appearance  in  a  Brooklyn 
church  after  the  burning  of  the  Tabernacle  in 
1894. 

It  was  urged  in  the  newspapers  that  he  might 
return  to  his  old  home.  The  invitation  was 
tempting,  judging  by  the  thousands  who  crowded 
that  Sunday  to  hear  him.  In  my  scrapbook  I 
read  of  this  occasion  : 

"  Women  fainted,  children  were  half-crushed, 
gowns  were  torn  and  strong  men  grew  red  in  the 
face  as  they  buffeted  the  crowds  that  had 
gathered  to  greet  the  Rev.  T.  DeWitt  Talmage 
at  the  Central  Presbyterian  Church  in  Brooklyn." 

In  the  autumn  of  1900,  an  anniversary  of  East 


398  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

Hampton,  N.Y.,  was  held,  and  the  Doctor  entered 
energetically  and  happily  into  the  celebration, 
preaching  in  the  little  village  church  which  had 
echoed  to  his  voice  in  the  early  days  of  his  minis- 
try. It  was  a  far  call  backward  over  nearly  five 
decades  of  his  teeming  life.  And  he,  whose  magic 
style,  whether  of  word  or  pen,  had  enchanted 
millions  over  the  broad  world — how  well  he 
remembered  the  fears  and  misgivings  that  had 
accompanied  those  first  efforts,  with  the  warning 
of  his  late  professors  ringing  in  his  ears  :  "  You 
must  change  your  style,  otherwise  no  pulpit  will 
ever  be  open  to  you." 

Now  he  could  look  back  over  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century  during  which  his  sermons  had 
been  published  weekly  ;  through  syndicates  they 
had  been  given  to  the  world  in  3,600  different 
papers,  and  reached,  it  was  estimated,  30,000,000 
people  in  the  United  States  and  other  countries. 
They  were  translated  into  most  European  and 
even  into  Asiatic  languages.  His  collected  dis- 
courses were  already  printed  in  twenty  volumes, 
while  material  remained  for  almost  as  many  more. 
His  style,  too,  in  spite  of  his  "  original  eccentri- 
cities," had  attracted  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
readers  to  his  books  on  miscellaneous  subjects — 
all  written  with  a  moral  purpose.  Among  a  score 
of  them  I  might  mention  :  From  Manger  to 
Throne  ;  The  Pathway  of  Life  ;  Crumbs  Swept 
Up  ;  Every-day  Religion  ;  The  Marriage  Ring  ; 
Woman  :    her  Powers  and  Privileges. 

Dr.  Talmage  edited  several  papers  beginning 
with  The  Christian  at  Work  ;  afterwards  he  took 
charge,  successively,  of  the  Advance,  Frank 
Leslie's  Sunday  Magazine,  and  finally  The 
Christian  Herald,  of  which  he  continued  to  be 
chief  editor  till  the  end  of  his  life.  He  spoke  and 
wrote  earnestly  of  the  civilising  and  educational 


f 


//^*r^o      fifO,^^    fi>      A<i>     /t^e_^f      /K^     (hu^^^    G 
/K^w    /*>-w     ^,  ^^  /^    ^/Co    ^^^^ 

FACSIMILE  OF  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  LETTER. 


DR.  TALMAGE,  EDITOR  399 

power  of  the  press,  and  felt  that  in  availing  him- 
self of  it  and  thereby  furnishing  lessons  of  right- 
eousness and  good  cheer  to  millions,  he  was 
multiplying  beyond  measure  his  short  span  of 
life  and  putting  years  into  hours.  He  said  :  "  My 
lecture  tours  seem  but  hand-shaking  with  the 
vast  throngs  whom  I  have  been  enabled  to  preach 
to  through  the  press." 

His  editorials  were  often  wrought  out  in  the 
highest  style  of  literary  art.  I  am  pleased  to  give 
the  following  estimate  from  an  author  who  knew 
him  well  :  "  As  an  editorial  writer,  Dr.  Talmage 
was  versatile  and  prolific,  and  his  weekly  contri- 
butions on  an  immense  variety  of  topics  would 
fill  many  volumes.  His  writing  was  as  entertain- 
ing and  pungent  as  his  preaching,  and  full  of 
brilliant  eccentricities — '  Talmagisms,'  as  they 
were  called.  He  coined  new  words  and  invented 
new  phrases.  If  the  topic  was  to  his  liking,  the 
pen  raced  to  keep  time  with  the  thought.  .  .  . 
Still,  with  all  this  haste,  nothing  could  exceed 
the  scrupulous  care  he  took  with  his  finished 
manuscript.  He  once  wired  from  Cincinnati  to 
his  publisher  in  New  York  instructions  to  change 
a  comma  in  his  current  sermon  to  a  semicolon. 
He  had  detected  the  error  while  reading  proof 
on  the  train." 

Dr.  Talmage's  personal  mail  was  thought  to  be 
the  largest  of  any  man  in  the  country,  outside  of 
some  of  the  public  officers.  Thousands,  men  and 
women,  appealed  to  him  for  advice  in  spiritual 
things,  revealing  to  him  intimate  family  affairs, 
laying  their  hearts  bare  before  him  as  before  a 
trusted  physician  of  the  soul.  I  have  seen  him 
moved  to  the  depths  of  his  nature  by  some  of 
these  white  missives  bearing  news  of  conversion 
to  faith  in  Christ  wrought  by  his  sermons  ;  of 
families  rent  asunder  united  through  his  words 


400  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

of  love  and  broadmindedness  ;  of  mothers  whose 
broken  hearts  he  had  healed  by  leading  back  the 
prodigal  son  ;  of  prisoners  whose  hope  in  life  and 
trust  in  a  loving  Father  had  been  awakened  by  a 
casual  reading  of  some  of  his  comforting  para- 
graphs. 

The  life  of  Dr.  Talmage  was  by  no  means  the 
luxurious  one  of  the  man  of  wealth  and  ease  it  was 
sometimes  represented  to  be.  He  could  not 
endure  that  men  should  have  this  aspect  of  him. 
He  was  a  plain  man  in  his  tastes  and  his  habits  ; 
the  impression  that  he  was  ambitious  for  wealth, 
I  know,  was  a  false  one.  I  do  not  believe  he  ever 
knew  the  value  of  money.  The  possession  of  it 
gave  him  little  gratification  except  for  its  use  in 
helping  to  carry  on  the  great  work  he  had  in  hand  ; 
and,  indeed,  he  never  knew  how  little  or  how  much 
he  had.  He  never  would  own  horses  lest  he 
should  give  people  reason  to  accuse  him  of  being 
arrogantly  rich.  We  drove  a  great  deal,  but  he 
always  insisted  on  hiring  his  carriages.  If  he 
accepted  remuneration  for  his  brain  and  heart 
labour,  Scripture  tells  us,  "  The  labourer  is 
worthy  of  his  hire."  He  was  foremost  in  helping 
in  any  time  of  public  calamity,  not  only  in  our 
own  country  but  more  than  once  in  foreign  lands. 
And  when  volumes  of  his  sermons  were  pirated 
over  the  country,  and  he  was  urged  to  take  legal 
steps  to  stop  the  injustice,  he  said  :  "  Let  them 
alone  ;  the  sermons  will  go  farther  and  do  more 
good." 

Dr.  Talmage's  opinions  were  sought  eagerly, 
and  upon  all  subjects  of  social,  political,  or  inter- 
national interest.  He  was  a  student  of  men,  and 
kept  ever  in  close  touch  with  the  progress  of 
events.  A  voluminous  and  rapid  reader,  he  was 
quick  to  grasp  the  aim  and  significance  of  what 
he  read  and  apply  it  to  his  purpose.    His  library 


THE  BIBLE  401 

in  Washington  contained  a  large  and  valuable 
collection  of  classics,  ancient  and  modern  ;  and 
his  East  Hampton  library  was  almost  a  duplicate 
of  this.  He  never  travelled  very  far  without  a 
trunkful  of  books.  I  remember,  in  the  first  year 
of  our  marriage,  his  interest  in  some  books  I  had 
brought  from  my  home  that  were  new  to  him. 
Many  of  them  he  had  not  had  time  to  read,  so, 
in  the  evenings,  I  used  to  read  them  aloud  to  him. 
Tolstoi's  works  were  his  first  choice  ;  together 
we  read  a  life  of  the  great  Russian,  which  the 
Doctor  enjoyed  immensely. 

The  Bible  was  ever  held  by  Dr.  Talmage  in 
extreme  reverence,  which  grew  with  his  continual 
study  and  meditation  of  the  sacred  pages.  He 
repudiated  the  "  higher  criticism  "  with  a  vehe- 
mence that  caused  him  to  be  sharply  assailed  by 
modern  critics — pronounced  infidels  or  of  infidel 
proclivities — who  called  him  a  "  bibliolater." 
He  asserted  and  reasserted  his  belief  in  its  divine 
inspiration  :  "  The  Bible  is  right  in  its  authenti- 
city, right  in  its  style,  right  in  its  doctrine,  and 
right  in  its  effects.  There  is  less  evidence  that 
Shakespeare  wrote  'Hamlet,'  that  Milton  wrote 
8  Paradise  Lost,'  or  that  Tennyson  wrote  '  The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,'  than  that 
the  Bible  is  God's  Word,  written  under  in- 
spiration by  evangelists  and  prophets.  It  has 
stood  the  bombardment  of  ages,  but  with  the 
result  of  more  and  more  proof  of  its  being  a 
book  divinely  written  and  protected."  "  Science 
and  Revelation  are  the  bass  and  soprano  of  the 
same  tune,"  he  said.  He  defied  the  attempts  of 
the  loud-mouthed  orators  to  destroy  belief  in  the 
Bible.  "  I  compare  such  men  as  Ingersoll,  in  their 
attacks  on  the  Bible,  to  a  grasshopper  upon  a 
railway-line  with  the  express  coming  thundering 
along." 

2  D 


402  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

His  living  portraits  of  Jesus,  the  Saviour  of 
men,  his  studies  of  that  divine  life,  of  the  words, 
the  actions  of  the  Son  of  God,  especially  of  His 
sufferings  and  death,  merging  into  the  glory  of 
His  resurrection  and  ascension,  are  all  well  known 
to  those  who  were  of  his  wide  audience.  The 
sweetness,  gentleness,  and  sympathy  of  the 
Saviour  were  favourite  themes  with  him.  In  a 
sermon  on  tears,  he  says  :  "  Jesus  had  enough 
trials  to  make  him  sympathetic  with  all  sorrowful 
souls.  The  shortest  verse  in  the  Bible  tells  the 
story  :  '  Jesus  wept.'  The  scar  on  the  back  of 
either  hand,  the  scar  in  the  arch  of  either  foot, 
the  row  of  scars  along  the  line  of  the  hair,  will 
keep  all  Heaven  thinking.  Oh,  that  Great  Weeper 
is  the  One  to  silence  all  earthly  trouble,  to  wipe 
all  the  stains  of  earthly  grief.  Gentle  !  Why,  His 
step  is  softer  than  the  step  of  the  dew.  It  will 
not  be  a  tyrant  bidding  you  hush  your  crying. 
It  will  be  a  Father  who  will  take  you  on  His  left 
arm,  His  face  beaming  into  yours,  while  with  the 
soft  tips  of  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand  He  shall 
wipe  away  all  tears  from  your  eyes."  And  here 
is  a  word  of  appeal  to  those  gone  astray  :  "  The 
great  heart  of  Christ  aches  to  have  you  come  in  ; 
and  Jesus  this  moment  looks  into  your  eyes  and 
savs  :  '  Other  sheep  I  have  that  are  not  of  this 
fold.'  " 

Dr.  Talmage  was  at  times  acutely  sensitive  to 
the  thrusts  of  sharp  criticism  dealt  to  him  through 
envy  or  misunderstanding  of  his  motives.  A 
great  writer  has  said  somewhere  :  "  Accusations 
make  wounds  and  leave  scars  "  ;  but  even  the 
scars  were  soon  worn  off  his  outraged  feelings  by 
the  remembrance  of  his  divine  Master's  gentle- 
ness and  forgiveness.  How  often  have  I  seen  the 
mandate,  "  Love  your  enemies  ;  do  good  to  them 
that  hate  you,"  verified  in  Dr.   Talmage.     He 


HIS  WILL  POWER  403 

could  not  bear  detraction  or  uncharitableness. 
His  heart  was  so  broad  and  loving  that  he  seemed 
to  have  room  in  it  for  the  whole  world  ;  and  his 
greeting  of  strangers  on  an  Australian  platform, 
amid  the  heathers  of  Scotland,  or  in  the  Golden 
Gate  of  California,  was  so  free  and  cordial  that 
each  one  might  have  thought  himself  a  dear  friend 
of  the  Doctor,  and  he  would  have  been  right  in 
thinkingso.  Again,  his  sense  of  humour  was  so  great 
that  he  could  laugh  and  "poke  fun"  at  his  critics 
with  such  ease  and  good  humour  that  their  arrows 
passed  harmlessly  over  his  head.  "  Men  have  a 
right  to  their  opinions,"  he  would  genially  say. 
"  There  are  twenty  tall  pippin  trees  in  the  orchard 
to  one  crab  apple  tree.  There  are  a  million  clover 
blooms  to  one  thistle  in  the  meadow." 

His  will  power  was  extraordinary ;  it  was 
endowed  with  a  persistence  that  overcame  every 
obstacle  of  his  life  ;  there  was  an  air  of  supreme 
confidence,  of  overwhelming  vitality,  about  his 
every  act.  Nothing  seemed  to  me  more  wonder- 
ful in  him  than  this  ;  and  it  entered  into  all  his 
actions,  from  those  that  were  important  and  far- 
reaching  in  their  consequences  to  the  workings 
of  his  daily  life  in  the  home.  Though  his  way 
through  these  last  milestones,  during  which  I 
travelled  with  him,  was  chiefly  through  the 
triumphal  archways  he  had  raised  for  himself 
upon  the  foundations  of  his  work,  there  were 
indications  that  their  cornerstone  was  the  will 
power  of  his  nature. 

Many  incidents  of  the  years  before  I  knew  him 
justify  this  opinion.  One  in  particular  illustrates 
the  extraordinary  perseverance  of  Dr.  Talmage's 
character.  When  his  son  DeWitt  was  a  boy,  in 
a  sudden  mood  of  adventure  one  day,  he  enlisted 
in  the  United  States  Navy.  Shortly  afterwards 
he  regretted  having  done  so.     Some  one  went  to 


404  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

his  father  and  told  him  that  the  boy  was  on  board 
a  warship  at  Hampton  Roads,  homesick  and 
miserable.  Dr.  Talmage  went  directly  to  Wash- 
ington, straight  into  the  office  of  Mr.  Thompson, 
the  Secretary  of  the  Navy.  "  I  am  Dr.  Talmage," 
he  said  promptly  ;  "  my  son  has  enlisted  in  the 
Navy  and  is  on  a  ship  near  Norfolk.  I  want  to 
go  to  him  and  bring  him  home.  He  is  homesick. 
Will  you  write  me  an  order  for  his  release  ?  " 
The  Secretary  replied  that  it  had  become  an 
impression  among  rich  men's  sons  that  they 
could  take  an  oath  of  service  to  the  U.S.  Govern- 
ment, and  break  it  as  soon  as  their  fathers  were 
ready,  through  the  influence  of  wealth,  to  secure 
their  release.  He  was  opposed  to  such  an  idea, 
he  said  ;  and,  therefore,  though  he  was  very  sorry, 
he  could  not  grant  Dr.  Talmage's  request.  The  Doc- 
tor immediately  took  a  chair  in  the  office,  and  said 
firmly :  "  I  shall  not  leave  this  office,  Mr.  Secretary, 
until  you  write  out  an  order  releasing  my  son." 

The  hour  for  luncheon  came.  The  Secretary 
invited  the  Doctor  to  lunch  with  him.  "  I  shall 
not  leave  this  office,  Mr.  Secretary,  until  I  get 
that  order,"  was  the  Doctor's  reply.  The  Secre- 
tary of  the  Navy  left  the  office  ;  after  an  absence 
of  an  hour  and  a  half,  he  returned  and  found  Dr. 
Talmage  still  sitting  in  the  same  place.  The 
afternoon  passed.  Dinner  time  came  round. 
"  Dr.  Talmage,  will  you  not  honour  me  by  coming 
up  to  my  house  to  dine,  and  staying  with  us  over 
night  ?  "  asked  the  Secretary.  "  I  shall  not  leave 
this  office  until  you  write  out  that  order  releasing 
my  son,  Mr.  Secretary,"  was  the  calm,  persistent 
reply.  The  Secretary  departed.  The  building 
was  empty,  save  for  a  watchman,  to  whom  the 
Secretary  said  in  passing,  "  There  is  a  gentleman 
in  my  room.  When  he  wishes  to  leave  let  him  out 
of  the  building." 


UNIQUE  EXPERIENCES  405 

About  nine  o'clock  at  night  the  Secretary 
became  anxious.  Telephones  were  not  common 
then,  so  he  went  down  to  the  office  to  investigate  ; 
and  sitting  there  in  the  place  where  he  had  been 
all  day  was  Dr.  Talmage.  The  order  was  written 
that  night.  This  incident  was  told  me  by  a  friend 
of  the  Doctor's.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Dr. 
Talmage  was  justified  in  this  demand  of  paternal 
love  and  sympathy,  since  numbers  of  such  con- 
cessions had  been  made  by  the  Secretary  and  his 
predecessors.  His  daring  and  his  pertinacity 
were  overwhelming  forces  of  his  genius. 

In  the  winter  months  of  this  year  I  enjoyed 
another  lecturing  tour  with  him  through  Canada 
and  the  West.  The  lecture  bureau  that  arranged 
his  tours  must  have  counted  on  his  herculean 
strength,  for  frequently  he  had  to  travel  twenty- 
four  hours  at  a  stretch  to  keep  his  engagements. 
Occasionally  he  was  paid  in  cash  at  the  end  of  the 
lecture  an  amount  fixed  by  the  lecture  bureau. 
I  have  seen  him  with  perhaps  $2,000  in  bills  and 
gold  stuffed  away  carelessly  in  his  pocket,  as  if 
money  were  merely  some  curious  specimen  of  no 
special  value.  Sometimes  he  would  receive  his 
fee  in  a  cheque,  and,  as  happened  once  in  a  small 
Western  town,  he  would  have  very  little  money 
with  him.  I  remember  an  occasion  of  this  kind, 
because  it  was  amusing.  The  cheque  had  been 
given  the  Doctor  as  usual  at  the  end  of  his  lecture. 
It  was  about  eleven  at  night,  and  we  were  com- 
pelled to  take  a  midnight  train  out  to  reach  his 
next  place  of  engagement.  At  the  hotel  where  we 
stayed  they  did  not  have  money  enough  to  cash 
the  cheque.  We  walked  up  the  street  to  the  other 
hotel,  but  found  there  an  equal  lack  of  the  cir- 
culating medium.     It  was  a  bitter  cold  night. 

"  Here  we  are  out  in  the  world  without  a  roof 
over    our    heads,    Eleanor,"    said    the    Doctor, 


406  THE  LAST  MILESTONE 

merrily.  "  What  a  cold  world  it  is  to  the  unfor- 
tunate." Finally  Dr.  Talmage  went  to  the  ticket 
office  of  the  railroad  and  explained  the  situation 
to  the  young  man  in  charge.  "  I  can't  give  you 
tickets,  but  I  will  buy  them  for  you,  and  you  can 
send  me  the  money,"  the  clerk  said  promptly.  As  we 
had  an  all-day  ride  before  us  and  a  drawing  room 
to  secure,  the  amount  was  not  inconsiderable. 
I  think  it  was  on  this  trip  that  William  Jennings 
Bryan  got  on  the  train  and  enlivened  the  journey 
for  us.  The  stories  he  and  the  Doctor  hammered 
out  of  the  long  hours  of  travel  were  entertaining. 
We  exchanged  invitations  to  the  dining  car  so  as 
not  to  stop  the  flow  of  conversation  between  Mr. 
Bryan  and  the  Doctor.  We  would  invite  him  to 
lunch,  and  Mr.  Bryan  would  ask  us  to  dinner,  or 
vice  versa,  so  that  the  social  amenities  were 
delightfully  extended  to  keep  us  in  mutual 
enjoyment  of  the  trip.  Dr.  Talmage  and  myself 
agreed  that  Mr.  Bryan's  success  on  the  platform 
was  much  enhanced  by  his  wonderful  voice. 
The  Doctor  said  he  had  never  heard  so  exquisite 
a  speaking  voice  in  a  man  as  Mr.  Bryan's. 
He  always  spoke  in  eloquent  support  of  the 
masses,  denouncing  the  trusts  with  vehemence. 

Travelling  was  always  a  kind  of  luxury  to  me, 
when  we  were  not  obliged  to  stop  over  at  some 
wretched  hotel.  The  Pullman  cars  were  palatial 
in  comfort  compared  to  the  hotels  we  had  to 
enter.  But  Dr.  Talmage  was  always  satisfied  ; 
no  hotel,  however  poor,  could  alter  the  cheerful- 
ness of  his  temperament. 

In  January,  1901,  Queen  Victoria  died,  and 
Dr.  Talmage's  eulogy  went  far  and  wide.  I  quote 
again  from  my  scrap-book  a  part  of  his  comment 
on  this  world  event : 

"  While  Queen  Victoria  has  been  the  friend  of 
all  art,  all  literature,  all  science,  all  invention,  all 


QUEEN  VICTORIA  407 

reform,  her  reign  will  be  most  remembered  for 
all  time,  all  eternity,  as  the  reign  of  Christianity. 
Beginning  with  that  scene  at  5  o'clock  in  the 
morning  in  Kensington  Palace,  where  she  asked 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  pray  for  her, 
and  they  knelt  down  imploring  Divine  guidance 
until  her  last  hour,  not  only  in  the  sublime 
liturgy  of  her  established  Church,  but  on  all 
occasions,  she  has  directly  or  indirectly  declared  : 
*  I  believe  in  God,  the  Father  Almighty,  Maker  of 
Heaven  and  Earth,  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  His  only 
begotten  Son.' 

"  The  Queen's  book,  so  much  criticised  at  the 
time  of  its  appearance,  some  saying  that  it  was 
skilfully  done,  and  some  saying  that  the  private 
affairs  of  a  household  ought  not  to  have  been 
exposed,  was  nevertheless  a  book  of  rare  useful- 
ness, from  the  fact  that  it  showed  that  God  was 
acknowledged  in  all  her  life,  and  that  *  Rock  of 
Ages'  was  not  an  unusual  song  at  Windsor  Castle. 

"  I  believe  that  no  throne  since  the  throne  of 
David  and  the  throne  of  Hezekiah  and  the  throne 
of  Esther,  has  been  in  such  constant  touch  with 
the  throne  of  heaven  as  the  throne  of  Victoria. 
Sixty-three  years  of  womanhood  enthroned!" 

In  March  of  1901  Dr.  Talmage  inaugurated 
a  series  of  Twentieth  Century  Revival  Meetings 
in  the  Academy  of  Music,  in  New  York.  It  was  a 
great  Gospel  campaign  in  which  thousands  were 
powerfully  impressed  for  life.  The  Doctor  seemed 
to  have  made  a  new  start  in  a  defined  evangelical 
plan  of  saving  the  world.  Indeed,  to  save  was  his 
great  watchword,  to  save  sinners,  but  most  of  all 
to  save  men  from  becoming  sinners.  One  of  his 
famous  themes — and  thousands  remember  his 
burning  words — was  "  The  Three  Greatest  Things 
to  Do — Save  a  Man,  Save  a  Woman,  Save  a 
Child."    There  was  a  certain  anxiety  in  my  mind 


408  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

about  Dr.  Talmage  in  this  sixty-eighth  year  of 
his  life,  and  I  used  to  tell  him  that  he  had  reached 
the  top  of  all  religious  obligations  as  he  himself 
felt  them,  that  there  was  nothing  greater  for  him 
to  do,  and  that  he  might  now  move  with  softer 
measure  to  the  inspired  impulses  of  his  life.  But 
he  never  delayed,  he  never  tarried,  he  never 
waited.  He  marched  eagerly  ahead,  as  if  the 
milestones  of  his  life  stretched  many  years 
beyond. 

Our  social  life  in  Washington  was  subservient 
to  Dr.  Talmage's  reign  of  preaching.  We  never 
accepted  invitations  without  the  privilege  of 
qualifying  our  acceptance,  making  them  subject 
to  the  Doctor's  religious  duties.  The  privilege 
was  gracefully  acknowledged  by  all  our  friends. 
We  were  away  from  Washington,  too,  a  great 
deal.  In  the  spring  of  this  year,  1901,  the  Doctor 
made  a  lecturing  tour  through  the  South,  that  was 
full  of  oratorical  triumphs  for  him,  but  no  less 
marked  by  delightful  social  incidents.  There  was 
a  series  of  dinners  and  receptions  in  his  honour 
that  I  shall  never  forget,  in  those  beautiful  homes 
of  Mississippi,  Alabama,  and  Tennessee.  Because 
of  his  Gospel  pilgrimage  of  many  years  in  these 
places,  Dr.  Talmage  had  grown  to  be  a  household 
god  among  them. 

When  winter  had  shed  his  garland  of  snow  over 
nature,  or  when  we  were  knee  deep  in  summer's 
verdure  and  flowers,  East  Hampton  was  the 
Doctor's  headquarters.  From  there  we  made 
our  summer  trips.  It  was  after  a  short  season  at 
East  Hampton  in  the  summer  of  1901,  that  the 
Doctor  went  to  Ocean  Grove,  where  he  delivered 
a  Fourth  of  July  oration,  the  enormous  auditorium 
being  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity.  A  few 
days  later  we  went  to  Buffalo,  where,  in  a  large 
tent    standing    in    the    Exposition    ground,    Dr. 


McKINLEY'S   ASSASSINATION       409 

Talmage  lectured,  his  powerful  voice  triumphing 
over  the  fireworks  that,  from  a  place  near  by, 
went  booming  up  through  the  heavens.  After  a 
series  of  Chautauqua  lectures  through  Michigan 
and  Wisconsin,  the  Doctor  finished  his  course  at 
Lake  Port,  Maryland,  near  picturesque  Deer 
Park.  These  are  merely  casual  recollections,  too 
brief  to  serve  otherwise  than  as  evidence  of  Dr. 
Talmage's  tremendous  industry  and  energy. 

In  September,  1901,  came  the  assassination  of 
President  McKinley.  Dr.  Talmage  had  an  en- 
gagement to  preach  at  Ocean  Grove  the  day 
following  the  disaster.  On  our  arrival  at  the 
West  End  Hotel,  Long  Branch,  the  Doctor 
went  in  to  register  while  we  remained  in  the 
carriage  at  the  door.  Suddenly  he  came  out,  and 
I  could  see  that  he  was  very  much  agitated.  He 
had  just  received  the  news  of  the  tragedy. 

"  I  cannot  preach  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  This 
is  too  horrible.  McKinley  has  been  shot.  What 
shall  I  do  ?  "  And  he  stood  there  utterly 
stunned  ;  unable  to  think.  "  Well,  we  will  stop 
at  the  hotel  to-night,  at  any  rate,"  I  said,  "  let 
us  go  in." 

Later  the  Doctor  tried  to  explain  to  those  in 
charge  at  Ocean  Grove  that  he  could  not  preach, 
but  they  prevailed  upon  him  to  deliver  the  sermon 
he  had  with  him,  which  he  did,  prefacing  it  with 
appropriate  remarks  about  the  national  disaster 
of  the  hour. 

The  following  telegram  was  immediately  sent 
to  the  Chief  of  the  Nation,  cut  off  so  ruthlessly  in 
his  career  of  honour  and  usefulness  : — 

"  Long  Branch,   September  6th. 

"President  McKinley,  Buffalo,  N.Y. 

"The  Nation  is  in  prayer  for  your  recovery. 
You  will  be  nearer  and  dearer  to  the  people  than 


410  THE  LAST  MILESTONE 

ever   before   after   you   have   passed   this   crisis. 
Mrs.  Talmage  joins  me  in  sympathy. 

"  T.  DeWitt  Talmage." 

After  the  death  of  the  President  the  Doctor 
preached  his  sermon  "  Our  Dead  President " 
for  the  first  time  in  the  little  church  at  East 
Hampton,  where  it  had  been  written  in  his  study. 
In  October  the  Doctor  was  called  upon  to  preach 
at  the  obsequies  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Sunderland, 
for  many  years  pastor  of  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Washington.  What  a  long  season  of 
obsequies  Dr.  Talmage  solemnised  !  And  yet, 
with  what  supreme  optimism  he  defied  the  unseen 
arrow  in  his  own  life  that  came  to  pierce  him  with 
such  suddenness  in  April,  1902. 

The  Doctor  had  been  a  good  traveller,  and  he 
was  fond  of  travelling  ;  but,  toward  the  end  of 
his  life,  there  were  moments  when  he  felt  its 
fatiguing  influences.  He  never  complained  or 
appeared  apprehensive,  but  I  remember  the  first 
time  he  showed  any  weariness  of  spirit.  I  almost 
recall  his  words  :  "I  have  written  so  much  about 
everything,  that  now  it  becomes  difficult  for  me 
to  write.  I  am  tired."  It  frightened  me  to  hear 
him  say  this,  he  was  so  wonderful  in  endurance 
and  strength  ;  and  I  could  not  shake  off  the  effect 
that  this  first  sign  of  his  declining  years  made 
upon  me.  He  was  then  sixty-nine  years  old,  and 
the  last  of  the  twelve  children,  save  his  sister. 

The  last  sermon  he  ever  wrote  was  preached 
in  February,  1902.  The  text  of  this  was  from 
Psalms  xxxiii.  2  :  "  Sing  unto  Him  with  the 
Psaltery,  and  an  instrument  of  ten  strings."  This 
was  David's  harp  of  gratitude  and  praise.  After 
some  introductory  paragraphs  on  the  harp,  its 
age,  the  varieties  of  this  "  most  consecrated  of 
all  instruments,"  its  "  tenderness,"  its  place  in 


DR.    TALMAGE'S    LAST    SERMON    411 

44  the  richest  symbolism  of  the  Holy  Scriptures," 
he  writes  :  "  David's  harp  had  ten  strings,  and, 
when  his  great  soul  was  afire  with  the  theme,  his 
sympathetic  voice,  accompanied  by  exquisite 
vibrations  of  the  chords,  must  have  been  over- 
powering. .  .  .  The  simple  fact  is  that  the  most 
of  us,  if  we  praise  the  Lord  at  all,  play  upon  one 
string  or  two  strings,  or  three  strings,  when  we 
ought  to  take  a  harp  fully  chorded,  and  with  glad 
fingers  sweep  all  the  strings.  Instead  of  being 
grateful  for  here  and  there  a  blessing  we  happen 
to  think  of,  we  ought  to  rehearse  all  our  blessings, 
and  obey  the  injunction  of  my  text  to  sing  unto 
Him  with  an  instrument  of  ten  strings."  "  Have 
you  ever  thanked  God  for  delightsome  food  ?  " 
he  asks;  and  for  sight  for  "  the  eye,  the  window 
of  our  immortal  nature,  the  gate  through  which 
all  colours  march,  the  picture  gallery  of  the  soul  ?  " 
He  enumerates  other  blessings — hearing,  sleep, 
the  gift  of  reason,  the  beauties  of  nature,  friends. 
44  I  now  come,"  he  continues,  44  to  the  tenth  and 
last.  I  mention  it  last  that  it  may  be  more 
memorable — heavenly  anticipation.  By  the  grace 
of  God  we  are  going  to  move  into  a  place  so 
much  better  than  this,  that  on  arriving  we  will 
wonder  that  we  were  for  so  many  years  so  loath 
to  make  the  transfer.  After  we  have  seen  Christ 
face  to  face,  and  rejoiced  over  our  departed 
kindred,  there  are  some  mighty  spirits  we  will 
want  to  meet  soon  after  we  pass  through  the 
gates."  As  his  graphic  pen  depicts  the  scene — 
the  meeting  with  David  and  the  great  ones  of 
Scripture,  44  the  heroes  and  heroines  who  gave 
their  lives  for  the  truth,  the  Gospel  pro- 
claimed, the  great  Christian  poets,  all  the 
departed  Christian  men  and  women  of  whatever 
age  or  nation  " — he  seems  to  have  already  a  fore- 
taste of  the  wonderful  vision  so  soon  to  open  to 


412  THE  LAST  MILESTONE 

his  eyes.  "  Now,"  he  concludes,  "take  down  your 
harp  of  ten  strings  and  sweep  all  the  chords. 
Let  us  make  less  complaint  and  offer  more  thanks  ; 
render  less  dirge  and  more  cantata.  Take  paper 
and  pen  and  write  in  long  columns  your  blessings. 
.  .  .  Set  your  misfortunes  to  music,  as  David 
opened  his  dark  sayings  on  a  harp.  .  .  .  Blessing, 
and  honour  and  glory  and  power  be  unto  Him 
that  sitteth  upon  the  throne  and  unto  the  Lamb 
for  ever.     Amen  !" 

I  recall  that  when  Dr.  Talmage  first  read  this 
sermon  to  me  in  his  study,  he  said  :  "  That  is  the 
best  I  can  do  ;  I  shall  never  write  a  better  ser- 
mon." I  have  been  told  that  when  a  man  says 
he  has  reached  the  topmost  effort  of  his  abilities, 
it  presages  his  end,  and  the  march  of  events 
seemed  to  verify  the  axiom. 

Dr.  Talmage's  last  journey  came  about  through 
the  invitation  of  the  Mexican  minister  in 
Washington.  The  latter  met  Dr.  Talmage 
at  dinner,  and  on  hearing  that  he  had  never 
preached  in  Mexico  he  urged  him  to  go  there. 
When  the  Doctor's  plans  had  all  been  made, 
some  friends  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  going, 
secretly  fearing,  perhaps,  the  tax  it  would  be 
on  his  strength.  Yet  there  was  no  evidence  at 
this  time  to  support  their  fears,  and  the  Doctor 
himself  would  have  been  the  last  to  listen  to  any 
warning.  He  was  very  busy  during  the  few  days 
that  preceded  our  departure  from  Washington 
in  attending  the  meetings  of  the  Committee  of 
distinguished  clergymen  who  were  in  session  to 
revise  the  creed  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 

The  day  before  we  left  for  Mexico,  the  Doctor 
told  me  he  desired  to  entertain  these  gentlemen, 
as  had  been  his  custom  during  all  important 
gatherings  of  representative  churchmen  who 
visited  Washington.    He  was  in  great  spirits.   His 


LAST   HOSPITALITY  418 

ideas  of  a  social  affair  were  definite  and  generous, 
as  we  discovered  that  day,  much  to  our  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Eleanor,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  as  though  I  would 
like  to  have  these  gentlemen  to  luncheon  at  my 
house  to-morrow.  Can  you  arrange  it  ?  I  could 
not  possibly  leave  Washington  without  show- 
ing them  some  special  courtesy.  Now,  I  want 
a  real  meal,  something  to  sit  down  to.  None 
of  your  floating  oysters,  or  little  daubs  of  meat  in 
pastry,  but  real  food,  whole  turkeys,  four  or  five 
of  them — a  substantial  meal."  The  Doctor's 
respect  for  chicken  patties,  creamed  oysters,  and 
the  usual  buffet  reception  luncheon,  was  clearly 
not  very  great. 

The  luncheon  was  given  at  1.30  on  the  day 
appointed  ;  the  distinguished  guests  all  came, 
two  by  two,  into  our  house.  A  few  weeks  later, 
they  came  again  in  a  body,  two  by  two,  into  the 
house  of  mourning. 

Besides  the  visiting  clergy,  Dr.  Talmage  had 
also  invited  for  this  luncheon  other  representative 
men  of  Washington.  It  was  the  last  social 
gathering  which  the  Doctor  ever  attended  in  his 
own  home,  and  perhaps  for  that  reason  becomes 
a  significant  event  in  my  memory.  After  the  rest 
had  departed,  Dr.  Henry  Van  Dyke  remained  for 
an  hour  or  two  to  talk  with  my  husband  in  his 
study.  Dr.  Talmage  so  often  referred  to  the  great 
pleasure  this  long  interview  had  given  him,  that 
I  am  sure  it  was  one  of  the  supreme  enjoyments 
of  his  last  spiritual  milestone. 

The  night  before  we  left  Washington  an  inci- 
dent occurred  that  directly  concerns  these  pages. 
We  had  gone  down  into  the  basement  of  the 
house  to  look  for  some  papers  the  Doctor  kept 
there  in  the  safe,  and  in  taking  them  out  he  picked 
up  the  manuscript  of  his  autobiography.     As  we 


414  THE   LAST  MILESTONE 

went  upstairs  I  said  to  the  Doctor,  "  What  a 
pity  that  you  have  not  completed  it  entirely." 

The  Doctor  replied,  "  All  the  obscure  part  of 
my  life  is  written  here,  and  a  great  part  of  the 
rest  of  it.  When  I  return  from  Mexico  I  will 
finish  it.  If  anything  should  happen,  however,  it 
can  be  completed  from  scrapbooks  and  other  data." 

We  went  into  his  study  and  the  Doctor  had  just 
begun  to  read  it  to  me  when  we  were  interrupted 
by  a  call  from  Senator  Hanna.  Dr.  Talmage 
particularly  admired  Senator  Hanna,  and,  as  they 
were  great  friends,  the  autobiography  was  for- 
gotten for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Knowing  that 
the  Doctor  was  about  to  leave  Washington  the 
Senator  had  come  to  wish  him  goodby,  and  to 
urge  him  to  visit  his  brother  at  Thomasville, 
Georgia,  where  we  were  to  stop  on  our  way  to 
Mexico.  I  remember  Senator  Hanna  said  to  the 
Doctor,  "  You  will  find  the  place  very  pretty  ;  we 
own  a  good  deal  of  property  there,  so  much  so 
that  it  could  easily  be  called  Hannaville."  The 
next  morning  we  started  for  the  City  of  Mexico, 
going  direct  to  Charleston,  where  the  Doctor 
preached.  He  was  entertained  a  good  deal  there, 
and  we  witnessed  the  opening  of  the  Charleston 
Exposition. 

From  Charleston  we  went  to  Thomasville, 
Georgia,  where  we  spent  a  week,  during  which  time 
the  Doctor  preached  and  lectured  twice  at  near- 
by places.  It  was  here  that  we  met  the  first 
accident  of  our  journey.  Just  as  we  were  steaming 
into  Thomasville  we  ran  into  a  train  ahead,  and 
there  was  some  loss  of  life  and  great  damage. 
Fortunately  we  were  in  the  last  Pullman  car  of 
the  train.  I  have  always  believed  that  the  shock 
of  this  accident  was  the  beginning  of  the  end  for 
Dr.  Talmage.  He  showed  no  fear,  and  he  gave 
every  assistance  possible  to  others  ;    but,  in  the 


A  MEXICAN  SAND-STORM  415 

tension  of  the  moment,  in  his  own  self-restraint 
for  the  sake  of  others,  I  think  that  he  over- 
taxed his  strength  more  than  he  realised.  I 
never  wanted  to  see  a  train  again,  and  begged  the 
Doctor  to  let  us  remain  in  Thomasville  the 
rest  of  our  lives.  The  next  morning,  however,  Dr. 
Talmage  started  out  on  a  preaching  engagement 
in  the  neighbourhood  by  train,  but  we  remained 
behind.  Our  stay  in  Thomasville  was  made  very 
enjoyable  by  the  relatives  of  Senator  Hanna, 
whose  beautiful  estates  were  a  series  of  landscape 
pictures  I  shall  always  remember.  Although  the 
Doctor  was  obliged  to  be  away  on  lecturing  en- 
gagements three  times  during  the  week  he  enjoyed 
the  drives  about  Thomasville  with  us  while  he  was 
there.  Our  destination  after  leaving  Thomas- 
ville was  New  Orleans,  where  Dr.  Talmage  was 
received  as  if  he  had  been  a  national  character. 
He  was  welcomed  by  a  distinguished  deputation 
with  the  utmost  cordiality.  The  Christian  Herald 
said  of  this  occasion  :  "  When  he  went  on  the 
following  Sunday  to  the  First  Presbyterian  Church 
he  found  a  great  multitude  assembled,  the  large 
building  densely  packed  within  and  a  much  vaster 
gathering  out  of  doors  unable  to  obtain  admit- 
tance. Thousands  went  away  disappointed.  He 
spoke  with  even  more  than  usual  force  and 
conviction."  Never  were  we  more  royally  enter- 
tained or  feted  than  we  were  here.  From  New 
Orleans  we  went  to  San  Antonio,  where  we  stopped 
off  for  two  or  three  days'  sight-seeing.  The 
Doctor  was  urged  to  preach  and  lecture  while  he 
was  there  ;  but  he  excused  himself  on  the  ground 
of  a  previous  engagement,  promising,  however, 
to  lecture  in  San  Antonio  on  his  return  trip  to 
Washington. 

On  our  way  from  San  Antonio  to  the  City  of 
Mexico  our  train  ran  into  one  of  the  sand-storms, 


416  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

for  which  the  Mexican  country  is  famous  at 
certain  times  of  the  year  ;  and  we  were  at  a  stand- 
still on  a  side  track  at  a  small  station  for  twenty- 
four  hours.  The  food  was  execrable,  the  wind  and 
sand  were  choking,  and  the  whole  experience 
trying  in  the  extreme.  We  were  warned  against 
thieves  of  the  neighbourhood,  and,  during  the 
night  we  were  locked  in  the  cars  to  ensure  the 
safety  of  our  belongings.  In  spite  of  these  pre- 
cautions a  shawl  which  the  Doctor  valued, 
because  it  had  been  presented  to  him  by  the 
citizens  of  Melbourne,  Australia,  was  stolen 
during  the  night  through  an  open  window.  They 
were  not  bashful  those  thieves  of  the  sand- 
storm. From  a  private  car  attached  to  the  rear  of 
our  train  they  stole  a  refrigerator  bodily  off  the 
platform. 

The  Doctor  had  long  been  suffering  from  his 
throat,  and  all  these  annoyances  had  the  effect  of 
increasing  the  painful  symptoms  to  such  a  degree 
that  when  we  finally  got  into  the  city  of  Mexico 
on  Saturday,  March  1st,  it  was  necessary  to  call  a 
physician.  Dr.  Talmage  had  brought  with  him  a 
number  of  letters  of  introduction  from  Washington 
to  people  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  but  the  Mexican 
minister  had  written  ahead  of  us,  and  on  the  day 
we  arrived  people  left  their  cards  and  extended 
invitations  that  promised  to  keep  us  socially  busy 
every  day  of  our  week's  visit. 

The  Doctor  was  ailing  a  little,  I  thought,  but 
not  seriously.  He  had  a  slight  cold.  Although 
he  had  planned  to  preach  only  in  the  Presbyterian 
Church  a  week  from  our  arrival,  the  people  of  the 
other  Protestant  denominations  urged  him  with 
such  importunity  that  he  agreed  to  preach  for 
them  on  the  first  Sunday,  the  day  after  our  arrival. 
This  was  an  unexpected  strain  on  Dr.  Talmage 
after  a  very  trying  journey  ;    but  he  never  could 


THE   LAST   ILLNESS  417 

refuse  to  preach,  no  matter  how  great  his  fatigue. 
On  the  following  Tuesday  a  luncheon  was  given 
Dr.  Talmage  by  General  Porfirio  Diaz,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Mexican  Republic,  at  his  palace  in 
Chapultepec.  The  Doctor  enjoyed  a  long  audience 
with  the  aged  statesman,  during  which  the  mutual 
interests  and  prospects  of  the  two  countries  were 
freely  discussed,  President  Diaz  manifesting  him- 
self, as  always,  a  friend  and  admirer  of  our 
government  and  people.  During  the  afternoon  a 
cold  wind  had  come  up,  and  the  drive  home 
increased  the  Doctor's  indisposition,  so  that  he 
was  obliged  to  confine  himself  to  his  room.  Still 
he  was  up  and  about,  and  we  felt  no  alarm  what- 
ever. On  Thursday  night,  he  complained  of  a 
pain  at  the  base  of  his  brain,  and  at  about  four  in 
the  morning  I  was  awakened  by  him  : — 

"  Eleanor,"  he  said,  "  I  seem  to  be  very  ill ;  I 
believe  I  am  dying."  The  shock  was  very  great, 
it  was  such  a  rare  thing  for  him  to  be  ill.  We 
sent  for  the  best  American  physician  in  the  city 
of  Mexico,  Dr.  Shields,  who  diagnosed  the 
Doctor's  case  as  grippe.  He  at  once  allayed  my 
fears,  assuring  me  that  it  would  not  be  serious. 

Dr.  Talmage  had  promised  to  lecture  on  Friday, 
March  7th,  and  we  had  some  trouble  to  prevent 
him  from  keeping  this  engagement.  Dr.  Shields 
insisted  that  Dr.  Talmage  should  not  leave  his 
room,  declaring  that  the  exertion  would  be  too 
much  for  him.  Not  until  Dr.  Shields  had  assured 
Dr.  Talmage  that  the  people  could  be  notified  by 
special  handbills  and  the  newspapers  would  he 
consent  to  break  the  engagement. 

On  Friday  night  Dr.  Talmage  grew  worse  ;  and 
finally  he  asked  to  be  taken  home,  personally 
making  arrangements  with  Dr.  Shields  to  travel 
with  us  as  far  as  the  Mexican  border,  as  my  know- 
ledge of  Spanish  was  very  limited.     Eventually 

2  E 


418  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

it  became  necessary  for  Dr.  Shields  to  go  all  the 
way  with  us.  In  the  great  sorrow  that  the 
people  of  Mexico  felt  over  the  sudden  illness  of 
Dr.  Talmage,  their  regret  at  his  cancelled  engage- 
ments was  swallowed  up,  and  there  was  one  great 
wave  of  sympathy  which  touched  us  not  a  little. 

The  journey  to  Washington  was  a  painful  one. 
Dr.  Talmage  kept  growing  worse.  All  day  long  he 
lay  on  the  couch  before  me  in  our  drawing-room 
on  the  train,  saying  nothing — under  the  constant 
care  of  the  physician.  Telegrams  and  letters 
followed  the  patient  all  the  way  from  Mexico  to 
the  Capital  city.  At  every  station  silent,  awe- 
stricken  crowds  were  gathered  to  question  of  the 
state  of  the  beloved  sufferer.  In  New  Orleans  we 
had  to  stay  over  a  day,  so  as  to  secure  accommo- 
dation on  the  train  to  Washington.  While  there 
many  messages  of  condolence  were  left  at  the 
hotel,  a  party  of  ladies  calling  especially  to  thank 
me  for  the  "  great  care  I  was  taking  of  their 
Dr.  Talmage." 

On  our  route  to  the  national  city,  I  remember 
the  Doctor  drew  me  down  beside  him  to  speak  to 
me.  He  was  then  extremely  weak  and  his  voice 
was  very  low  :  "  Eleanor,  I  believe  this  is  death," 
he  said. 

The  long  journey,  in  which  years  seemed  com- 
pressed into  days,  at  last  came  to  a  close.  The 
train  pulled  up  in  Washington,  and  our  own 
physician,  Dr.  Magruder,  met  us  at  the  station. 
Dr.  Talmage  was  borne  into  his  home  in  a  chair, 
and  upstairs  into  his  bedroom,  where  already  the 
angel  of  death  had  entered  to  welcome  and  guard 
him,  though,  alas  !  we  knew  it  not,  and  still 
hoped  against  hope.  Occasional  rallies  took  place  ; 
but  evidences  of  cerebral  inflammation  appeared, 
and  the  patient  sank  into  a  state  of  unconscious- 
ness, which  was  only  a  prelude  to  death.   Bulletins 


HIS   DEATH  419 

were  given  to  the  public  daily  by  the  attending 
physicians  ;  and  if  aught  could  have  assuaged  the 
anguish  of  such  moments  it  would  have  been  the 
universal  interest  and  sympathy  shown  from  all 
parts  of  the  world. 

Readers  will  pardon  me  if  I  reproduce  from  The 
Christian  Herald  a  record  of  the  last  scene.  It  is 
hard  "  to  take  down  the  folded  shadows  of  our 
bereavement  "  and  hold  it  even  to  the  gaze  of 
friends. 

"  After  a  painful  illness,  lasting  several  weeks, 
America's  best-beloved  preacher,  the  Reverend 
Thomas  DeWitt  Talmage,  passed  from  earth  to 
the  life  above,  on  April  12th,  1902.  Ever  since  his 
return  from  Mexico,  where  he  was  prostrated  by 
a  sudden  attack  which  rapidly  assumed  the  form 
of  cerebral  congestion,  he  had  lain  in  the  sick 
chamber  of  his  Washington  home,  surrounded  by 
his  family  and  cared  for  by  the  most  skilful 
physicians.  Each  day  brought  its  alternate  hopes 
and  fears.  Much  of  the  time  was  passed  in  un- 
consciousness ;  but  there  were  intervals  when, 
even  amid  his  sufferings,  he  could  speak  to  and 
recognise  those  around  him.  No  murmur  or  com- 
plaint came  from  his  lips  ;  he  bore  his  suffering 
bravely,  sustained  by  a  Higher  Power.  The 
message  had  come  which  sooner  or  later  comes  to 
all,  and  the  aged  servant  of  God  was  ready  to  go  ; 
he  had  been  ready  all  his  life. 

"  Occasional  rallies  took  place,  raising  hopes 
which  were  quickly  abandoned.  From  April  5th 
to  April  12th  these  rallies  occurred  at  frequent 
intervals,  always  followed  by  a  condition  of 
increased  depression,  more  or  less  augmented  fever 
and  partial  unconsciousness.  On  Saturday,  April 
12th,  a  great  change  became  apparent.  For  many 
hours  the  patient  had  been  unconscious.  As  the 
day  wore  on,  it  became  evident  that  he  could  not 


420  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

live  through  another  night.  All  of  Dr.  Tannage's 
family — his  wife,  his  son,  the  Rev.  Frank  DeWitt 
Talmage,  of  Chicago  ;  Mrs.  Warren  G.  Smith  and 
Mrs.  Daniel  Mangam,  of  Brooklyn  ;  Mrs.  Allen 
E.  Donnan,  of  Richmond  ;  and  Mrs.  Clarence 
Wycoff  and  Miss  Talmage,  were  gathered  in  the 
chamber  of  death.  Dr.  G.  L.  Magruder,  the 
principal  physician,  was  also  in  attendance  at  the 
last.  At  9.25  o'clock  p.m.,  the  soul  took  flight 
from  the  inanimate  clay,  and  the  spirit  of  the 
world's  greatest  preacher  was  released." 

The  Rev.  T.  Chalmers  Easton,  an  old  and 
valued  friend  of  Dr.  Talmage,  was  in  frequent 
attendance  upon  him,  and  never  ceased  his 
ministrations  until  the  eyes  of  the  beloved  one 
were  closed  in  death.  A  brief  excerpt  from  his 
address  at  the  Memorial  Service  of  the  Rev.  T. 
DeWitt  Talmage  held  at  the  Eastern  Presby- 
terian Church,  Washington,  may  not  be  unaccep- 
table to  the  reader  : 

"  A  truly  great  man  or  eloquent  orator  does 
not  die — 

'  And  is  he  dead  whose  glorious  mind 

Lifts  thine  on  high  ? 
To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind 
Is  not  to  die.' 

"  What  shall  we  say  of  the  prince  in  Israel  who 
has  left  us  ?  Can  we  compress  the  ocean  into  a 
dewdrop  ?  No  more  is  it  possible  to  condense  into 
one  brief  hour  what  is  due  to  the  memory  of  our 
beloved  and  illustrious  friend.  His  moral  courage 
was  only  equalled  by  his  giant  frame  and  physical 
strength.  He  was  made  of  the  very  stuff  that 
martyrs  are  made  of:  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
individualities  of  our  time.  A  man  of  no  negative 
qualities,  aggressive  and  positive. 

"  His  whole  soul  was  full  of  convictions  of  right 


A  TRIBUTE  421 

and  duty.  A  firm  friend,  a  man  of  ready  recog- 
nition, a  human  magnet  in  his  focalising  power. 
He  was  true  in  every  deed,  and  never  needed  a 
veil  to  be  drawn.  ...  If,  as  his  personal  friend 
for  more  than  twenty  years,  I  should  attempt  to 
open  up  the  treasures  of  his  real  greatness,  where 
shall  we  find  more  of  those  sterling  virtues  that 
poets  have  sung,  artists  portrayed,  and  historians 
commended  ?  He  was  truly  a  great  man — a  man 
of  God  ! 

"  The  last  years  of  his  life  were  full  of  happiness 
in  the  living  companionship  of  her  who  so  sadly 
mourns  his  departure.  He  frequently  spoke  to  me 
of  the  great  inspiration  brought  into  these  years 
by  her  ceaseless  devotion  to  all  his  plans  and 
work,  making  what  was  burdensome  in  his  accu- 
mulating literary  duties  a  pleasure  .  .  .  The  last 
fond  look  of  recognition  was  given  to  his  beloved 
wife,  and  the  last  word  that  fell  from  his  lips, 
when  far  down  in  the  valley,  was  the  sweetest 
music  to  his  ears — '  Eleanor.5 

"  It  was  said  once  by  an  eminent  writer  that 
when  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  forest-born  liberator, 
entered  Heaven,  he  threw  down  at  God's  throne 
three  million  yokes  as  the  trophies  of  his  great  act 
of  emancipation  ;  as  great  as  that  was,  I  think  it 
was  small,  indeed,  compared  with  the  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  souls  Talmage  redeemed  from  the  yokes 
of  sin  and  shame  by  the  glorious  Gospel  preached 
with  such  fervour  and  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
What  a  mighty  army  stood  ready  to  greet  him  at 
the  gates  of  the  heavenly  city  as  the  warrior 
passed  in  to  be  crowned  by  his  Sovereign  and 
King  !  " 

The  funeral  services  were  held  at  the  Church  of 
the  Covenant,  Washington,  on  April  15th.  The 
ceremony  began  at  5  p.m.,  with  the  "  Dead 
March  from  Saul,"  and  lasted  considerably  over  an 


422  THE   LAST   MILESTONE 

hour.  The  coffin  rested  immediately  in  front  of 
the  pulpit,  and  over  it  was  a  massive  bed  of 
violets.   On  a  silver  plate  was  the  inscription  : 

THOMAS  DEWITT  TALMAGE, 

January  7th,  1832 — April  12th,  1902 

The  floral  offerings  were  numerous,  including  a 
wreath  of  white  roses  and  lilies  of  the  vallev  sent 
by  President  and  Mrs.  Roosevelt.  The  officiating 
clergymen  were  the  Rev.  Dr.  T.  S.  Hamlin,  pastor 
of  the  Church  ;  the  Rev.  Dr.  T.  Chalmers  Easton, 
of  Washington  ;  and  the  Rev.  Drs.  S.  J.  Nicols, 
and  James  Demarest,  of  Brooklyn.  A  male 
quartette  sang:  "Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  a  favourite 
hymn  of  Dr.  Talmage  ;  "  Beyond  the  Smiling  and 
the  Weeping  "  ;  and  "  It  is  well  with  my  Soul." 
The  addresses  of  the  Reverend  Doctors  were 
eulogistic  of  the  dead  preacher,  of  whom  they  had 
been  intimate  friends  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  The  body  lay  in  state  four  hours,  during 
which  thousands  passed  in  review  around  it. 

At  midnight  the  remains  of  Dr.  Talmage  were 
conveyed  by  private  train  to  Brooklyn,  where  the 
burial  took  place  in  Greenwood  Cemetery.  The 
funeral  cortege  arrived  about  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  ;  hundreds  were  already  in  the  cemetery, 
waiting  to  behold  the  last  rites  paid  to  one  they 
revered  and  loved.  The  Episcopal  burial  service 
was  read  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Howard  Suydam,  an  old 
friend  and  classmate  of  Dr.  Talmage,  who  made  a 
brief  address,  and  concluded  the  simple  ceremonies 
by  the  recital  of  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

Tributes  were  paid  to  the  illustrious  dead  all 
over  the  civilised  world,  and  in  many  languages  ; 
while  thousands  of  letters  of  condolence  and  tele- 
grams assured  the  family  in  those  days  of  affliction 
that  human  hearts  were  throbbing  with  ours  and 
fain   would   comfort  us.      One  wrote  feelingly  : 


THE   "CELESTIAL   DREAM"        423 

4  When  Dr.  Talmage  described  the  Heavenly 
Jerusalem,  he  seemed  to  feel  all  the  ecstatic 
fervour  of  a  Bernard  of  Cluny,  writing  : 

'  For  thee,  0  dear,  dear  Country ! 

Mine  eyes  their  vigils  keep  ; 
For  very  love  beholding 

Thy  holy  name,  they  weep.'  " 

And  it  seems  to  me  that  I  cannot  better  close 
this  altogether  unworthy  sketch  of  Dr.  Talmage 
than  by  offering  the  reader  as  a  parting  remem- 
brance, in  its  simple  beauty,  his  "  Celestial 
Dream  "  : 

"  One  night,  lying  on  my  lounge  when  very 
tired,  my  children  all  around  me  in  full  romp  and 
hilarity  and  laughter,  half  awake  and  half  asleep, 
I  dreamed  this  dream :  I  was  in  a  far  country.  It 
was  not  in  Persia,  although  more  than  oriental 
luxuries  crowned  the  cities.  It  was  not  the  tropics, 
although  more  than  tropical  fruitfulness  filled  the 
gardens.  It  was  not  Italy,  although  more  than 
Italian  softness  filled  the  air.  And  I  wandered 
around  looking  for  thorns  and  nettles,  but  I  found 
that  none  of  them  grew  there  ;  and  I  saw  the  sun 
rise  and  watched  to  see  it  set,  but  it  set  not. 
And  I  saw  people  in  holiday  attire,  and  I  said, 
'  When  will  they  put  off  all  this,  and  put  on  work- 
man's garb,  and  again  delve  in  the  mine  or  swelter 
at  the  forge  ?  '  But  they  never  put  off  the  holiday 
attire. 

"  And  I  wandered  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city  to 
find  the  place  where  the  dead  sleep,  and  I  looked 
all  along  the  line  of  the  beautiful  hills,  the  place 
where  the  dead  might  most  blissfully  sleep,  and 
I  saw  towers  and  castles,  but  not  a  mausoleum  or 
a  monument  or  a  white  slab  was  to  be  seen.  And 
I  went  into  the  chapel  of  the  great  town,  and  I 
said  :   '  Where  do  the  poor  worship,  and  where  are 


424  THE  LAST  MILESTONE 

the  benches  on  which  they  sit  ?  '  And  the  answer 
was  made  me,  '  We  have  no  poor  in  this  country.' 

"  And  then  I  wandered  out  to  find  the  hovels 
of  the  destitute,  and  I  found  mansions  of  amber 
and  ivory  and  gold  ;  but  not  a  tear  could  I  see, 
not  a  sigh  could  I  hear  ;  and  I  was  bewildered, 
and  I  sat  down  under  the  branches  of  a  great  tree, 
and  I  said,  '  Where  am  I,  and  whence  comes  all 
this  scene  ?  '  And  then  out  from  among  the  leaves 
and  up  the  flowery  paths  and  across  the  bright 
streams,  there  came  a  beautiful  group  thronging 
all  about  me,  and  as  I  saw  them  come  I  thought  I 
knew  their  step,  and  as  they  shouted  I  thought  I 
knew  their  voices,  but  they  were  so  gloriously 
arrayed  in  apparel  such  as  I  had  never  before 
witnessed,  that  I  bowed  as  stranger  to  stranger. 
But  when  again  they  clapped  their  hands  and 
shouted  '  Welcome  !  Welcome  !  '  the  mystery  all 
vanished,  and  I  found  that  time  had  gone  and 
eternity  had  come,  and  we  were  all  together  again 
in  our  new  home  in  Heaven. 

"  And  I  looked  around,  and  I  said,  (  Are  we  all 
here  ?  '  And  the  voices  of  many  generations 
responded,  '  All  here  !  '  And  while  tears  of  glad- 
ness were  raining  down  our  cheeks,  and  the 
branches  of  the  Lebanon  cedars  were  clapping 
their  hands,  and  the  towers  of  the  great  city  were 
chiming  their  welcome,  we  all  together  began  to 
leap  and  shout  and  sing,  '  Home,  home,  home, 
home  !  '  " 


INDEX 


Abbott,  Emma,  her  bequest  to 
the  Brooklyn  Tabernacle,  244  ; 
character,  244. 

Aberdeen,  Lord  and  Lady,  299. 

Adams,  Edwin,  71. 

Adams,  John,  his  administration, 
8. 

Adler,  Dr.,  118. 

Agnus,  General  Felix,  223. 

Alba,  368. 

Albany,  intemperance,  45  ;  bri- 
bery, 46  ;  lobbyists  driven  out, 
132. 

Alice,  Princess,  her  death,  90. 

Allen,  Barbara,  case  of,  82. 

"  America,"  s.s.,  length  of  voyage, 

135- 

Ames,  Coates,  74. 

Amoy,  19. 

Anarchists,  execution  of,  198. 

Anglo-American  Commission, 
members  of  the,  325. 

Annapolis,  326. 

Arkell,  W.  J.,  224. 

Arthur,  Chester  A.,  elected  Presi- 
dent, 115;  relinquishes  office, 
143  ;  at  Lexington,  188,  278  ; 
his  death,  188. 

Astor,  Mrs.  William,  55  ;  her 
death,  200  j  will,  200. 

Atlantic,  passage  across,  reduction, 
99. 

Austen,  Colonel,  221,  241. 

Avery,  Miss  Mary,  her  marriage, 
25  note. 

Baden-baden,  388. 

Bakewell,  351. 

Ball  club,  a  ministerial,  49. 

Banks,  Rev.  Dr.  Louis  Albert,  281. 

Barnes,  Rev.  Alfred,  48. 

Barnes,  General  Alfred  C,  241. 


2  F 


Barnes,  Alfred  S.,  207. 

Bartholdi  statue,  149,  150. 

Baskenridge,  4. 

Bayne,  John,  heroism  of,  134. 

Beaconsfield,  Lord,  104  ;  amount 
given  for  his  "Endymion,"  107, 
109. 

Beck,  Senator,  276. 

Bedloe's  Island,  149. 

Beecher,  Rev.  Henry  Ward,  his 
views  on  theology,  119;  cele- 
bration of  his  fortieth  year  of 
pastoral  service,  186  ;  character 
of  his  discourses,  187. 

Belfast,  391. 

Belgium,  King  Leopold  of,  in 
Paris,  388. 

Belleville,  Reformed  Church  at,  18. 

Bellows,  Rev.  Dr.,  116. 

Benton,  Thomas  H.,   104. 

Berg,  Rev.  Dr.,  48. 

Bergh,  Professor  Henry,his  defence 
of  animals,  100  ;  opposition  to 
vivisection,  100  ;  his  death,  208. 

Berlin,  374. 

Bethune,  George  W.,  186. 

Betting,  practice  of,  in  America, 
147. 

Bible,  Higher  Criticism,  253. 

Bill,  Buffalo,  261. 

Bird,  Mrs.,  244. 

Birds,  the  slaughter  of,  184. 

Birmingham,  267. 

Birmingham,  Alabama,  cyclone  at, 

34°- 
Blackburn,    Governor,    275  ;     his 

reception  of  Dr.  Talmage,  276  ; 

speech,  278. 
Blackburn,  Mrs.,  278. 
Blaine,   James   G.,   candidate   for 

the    Presidency,    138  ;     reports 

against,    138  ;     his    vigour    and 


425 


426 


INDEX 


exhaustion,  139 ;  reception  at 
the  White  House,  144  ;  cartoons 
of,  175. 

Boardman,  Rev.  Dr.,  48. 

Bobolinks,  number  of,  killed,  184. 

Bobrinsky,  Count,  263,  283. 

Boer  War,  347. 

Bond,  Mr.,  72. 

Bonner  &  Co.,  failure  of,  76. 

Bonynge,  Mrs.,  261. 

Boody,  Hon.  David  A.,  241,  281. 

Boston,  conflagration  of  1872,  231  ; 
Union  Church  of   49. 

Bound  Brook,  9. 

Bowery  Mission,  anniversary,  395. 

Bowles,  Samuel,  131. 

Brainerd,  Dr.,  38. 

Branch,  F.  H.,  269. 

Brewer,  Justice,  337. 

Brewers'  Association,  demand,  162. 

Bribery,  practice  of,  165-167. 

Briggs,  Dr.,  245. 

Brighton  Beach,  races  at,  147. 

Broadhead,  Rev.  Dr.,  91. 

Brooklyn,  corrupt  condition,  64, 
69,  75  ;  custom  of  carrying  fire- 
arms, 75;  standard  of  commerce, 
75  5  Bill  for  a  new  city  charter, 
78  ;  number  crossing  the  ferries, 
78  ;  Lafayette  Avenue  railroad 
scheme,  79,  88  ;  police  force,  82  ; 
management  of  public  taxes,  82  ; 
spread  of  communism,  83  ; 
reign  of  terror,  87  ;  bridge,  99  5 
cost,  120  ;  opened,  122 ;  im- 
provement in  local  administra- 
tion, 99  ;  number  of  pastors, 
120  ;  pool  rooms  opened,  147  ; 
railway  strike,  167 ;  establish- 
ment of  a  labour  exchange,  167  ; 
new  jail,  175  ;  pulpit  builders, 
186 ;  committee  of  investiga- 
tion, 193  ;  ovation  on  the 
return  of  Dr.  Talmage,  241. 

Brooklyn,  the  central  Church  of, 
49>  5°,  53  5  alterations,  57. 

Brooklyn  Tabernacle,  the  first,  55  ; 
dedication,  3,  61,  62,  249  ;  en- 
larged, 62  ;  rededication,  62  ; 
amount  of  collections,  62,  63  ; 


burnt  down,  65,  229,  231,  284- 
286  5  size  of  the  new,  6y,  252  5 
law-suit,  94  ;  prosperity,  162  5 
appeal  for  funds  to  rebuild,  232  ; 
trustees,  233  ;  subscribers,  234  ; 
consecration  of  the  ground,  234  ; 
cost,  242  ;  position,  242  5  rent 
of  pews,  243  5  corner-stone  laid, 
245  ;  contents,  245  ;  opened, 
249  5  financial  difficulties,  268  ; 
celebration  festival  of  the  25th 
anniversary  of  Dr.  Talmage's 
pastorate,  280-283  ;  letter  from 
the  Trustees,  287. 

Brooks,  Erastus,  131. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  261,  272. 

Brower,  Commissioner  George  V., 
241. 

Brown,  Henry  Eyre,  281. 

Brown,  Dr.  John,  60. 

Brown,  Dr.,  amount  of  his  salary, 
247. 

Brown,  Senator,  of  Georgia,  no. 

Bryan,  William  Jennings,  4065  his 
wonderful  voice,  406. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  his  death, 
85  5  incident  of,  85  ;  "  Thana- 
topsis,"  86  ;  his  noble  character, 
86. 

Buchanan,  James,  President,  his 
reply  cablegram  to  Queen  Vic- 
toria, 250. 

Buckley,  Dr.,  120. 

Buffalo,  408. 

Bunker  Hill,  156. 

Burnside,  Senator,  115. 

Burr,  Aaron,  his  infamy,  8. 

Burrows,  Senator,  337. 

Bush,  Dr.,  his  advice  to  students, 
208. 

Bushnell,  Giles  F.,  234. 

Butler,  Ben  F.,  nominated  Gover- 
nor of  Massachusetts,  88  ;  can- 
didate for  the  Presidency,  121. 

Butter,  Rev.  T.  G.,  62. 

Byrnes,  Inspector,  at  the  Press 
Club,  223. 

Cable  service,  a  cheaper,  135. 

Cablegram,  the  first,  250. 

Campbell,  Superintendent,  81. 


INDEX 


427 


Canada,  326,  405. 

Canton,  Ohio,  306. 

Carey,  Senator,  256  ;  at  Cheyenne, 
104. 

Carleton,  Will,  317. 

Carlisle,  Mr.,  128. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  his  house,  97  ; 
portrait,  98  ;  library,  98;  death- 
bed, no;  his  opinion  of 
Americans,  184. 

Carnegie,  Andrew,  his  gift  of  a 
library  to  Washington,  335. 

Carpenter,  Samuel,  223. 

Carroll,  Mr.,  102. 

Carson,  Rev.  Dr.  John  F.,  281. 

Carson,  Joseph  E.,  234. 

Cartwright,  Sir  Richard,  325. 

Case,  James  S.,  224. 

Catlin,  General,  157. 

"  Central-America,"  sinks,   134. 

Chambers,  Rev.  Dr.,  3. 

Chapin,  Mayor,  241. 

Charleston,  414  5  earthquake  at, 
178. 

Chase,  Salmon  P.,  his  death,  188. 

Chatsworth,  353-355. 

Chattanooga,  339. 

Chelsea,  97. 

Cheyenne,  104  ;    fashions  in,  106. 

Chicago,  99  ;  Calvary  Church  of, 
49  ;  spread  of  communism,  83  ; 
railway  strike,  167  ;  execution 
of  anarchists,  198;  conflagration 
of  1871,  231. 

Chili,  war  with  Peru,  117. 

Chinese,  legislative  effort  to  ex- 
clude, 90  ;  exclusion  of,  173  ; 
dress,  173  ;  immigration  Bill, 304. 

Chloroform,  first  use  of,  207,  356. 

Choate,  Mr.,  360. 

Cholera,  experiments  on,  162. 

Christian  Herald,  extract  from,  on 
the  illness  and  death  of  Dr. 
Talmage,  419. 

Christiania,  365. 

Chrysanthemum,  rage  for  the,  158. 

Church  fairs, pastoral  letter  against, 

1\ 
Cincinnati,    276 ;      differences    in 
clock  time,  189. 


11  City  of  Paris,"  235. 

"  City  of  Rome,"  133. 

Civil  War,  38  ;    result,  42,  74. 

Clarion,  Mdmc,  72. 

Clay,  Henry,  104;   his  death,  188. 

Clement,  Judge,  241. 

Cleveland,  Grover,  candidate,  1 17  ; 
elected  Governor  of  New  York, 
121  ;  candidate  for  the  Presi- 
dency, 138  ;  elected,  140  ;  his 
mother's  Bible,  144  5  reception 
of  Mr.  Blaine,  144 ;  cartoons, 
175  ;  marriage,  176  ;  his  exer- 
cise of  the  right  of  veto,  180  ; 
tour,  198  5  message  to  Congress, 
200  ;  his  intercourse  with  Dr. 
Talmage,  301-306 ;  attack  of 
rheumatism,  303  ;  objections  to 
the  Chinese  Immigration  Bill, 
304  ;   attacks  against,  306. 

Cleveland,  Mrs.,  297  ;  her  charac- 
teristics, 300,  301. 

Cleveland,  Miss  Rose,  300. 

Clinton,  DeWitt,  102. 

Coates,  A.  E.,  234. 

Cockerill,  Col.  John  A.,  at  the 
Press  Club,  223. 

Colfax,  Schuyler,  141. 

Collier,  Judge,  363. 

Collier,  Miss  Rebekah,  346  ;  her 
diary,  350. 

Collins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John,  261. 

Collyer,  Dr.  Robert,  amount  of  his 
salary,  247. 

Colorado  springs,  320. 

Colquitt,  Senator,  256. 

Commons,  House  of,  dynamite 
explosion,   142. 

Communism,  theory  of,  83. 

Coney  Island,  147,  179. 

Conkling,  Senator  Roscoe,  his  op- 
position to  the  Silver  Bill,  80  ; 
characteristics,  209  ;  death,  209. 

Constantinople,  earthquake,  191. 

Converse,  Charles  Cravat,  50. 

Coombs,  Mr.,  257. 

Cooper,  Fenimore,  85. 

Cooper,  Peter,  55,  57,  70. 

Copenhagen,  363 

Corbit,  Rev.  William  P.,  33-35. 


428 


INDEX 


Cork,  391. 

Coronado  Beach,  320,  322. 

Corrigan,  Archbishop,  191. 

Courtney,  Judge,  241. 

Cox,  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  H.,  186. 

Cox,  Mr.,  128  ;  appointed  minister 

to  Turkey,  146  ;  his  nicknames, 

146. 
Cradle,  the  family,  2. 
Creeds,  revision  of  the,  244. 
Crosby,  Dr.,  his  ecclesiastical  trial, 

TOI. 

Croy,  Peter,  17. 

Crystal  Palace,  banquet  given  to 

Dr.  Talmage  at,  267. 
Cuba,  victory  in,  320. 
Culver,  John  Y.,  241. 
Curry,  Daniel,  196. 

Dana,  Richard  Henry,  his  death, 
93  ;   literary  works,  94. 

Daniel,  Senator,  256. 

Darling,  Charles  S.,  233,  269. 

Davenport,  E.  L.,  71. 

Davis,  Jefferson,  339. 

Davis,  Sir  Louis,  325. 

Deer  Park,  409. 

Demarest,  Rev.  Dr.  James,  at  the 
funeral  of  Dr.  Talmage,  422. 

Democratic  party,  46. 

Denmark,  the  national  flower 
"  Golden  Rain,"  363. 

Denmark,  Crown  Prince  and  Prin- 
cess of,  receive  Dr.  Talmage,  364. 

Denver,  99,  320  ;  its  age,  105  ; 
picture  galleries,  106. 

Depau,  Mr.,  his  bequest  to  religion, 
194. 

Depew,  Chauncey  M.,  223. 

Derbyshire,  351. 

Dewey,  Admiral,  348. 

DeWitt,  Dr.,  187. 

DeWitt,  Gasherie,  31. 

Diaz,  Gen.  Porfirio,  President  of 
Mexico,  417  ;  his  interview  with 
Dr.  Talmage,  417. 

Dickens,  Charles,  result  of  in- 
somnia, 62. 

Dickey,  Dr.,  374. 

Dilke,  Sir  Charles,  179. 


Divorce,  views  on,  237. 

Dix,  John  A.,  102. 

Dix,  Dr.  Morgan,  amount  of  his 

salary,  247. 
Dixon,  Rev.  A.  C,  281. 
Dodge,  William  E.,  55,  57. 
Donnan,  Mrs.  Allen  E.,  420. 
Doty,  Ethan  Allen,  224. 
"  Dow  Junior's  Patent  Sermons," 

16. 
Dowling,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  26. 
"Dream,  The  Celestial,"  sketch, 

423- 
Due  West,  338. 
Duncan,  John,  31. 
Duncan,  William,  31. 

"Earth  Girdled,  The,"  publica- 
tion of,  289. 

Earthquake  at  Charleston,  178  ; 
Constantinople,  191. 

East  Hampton,  57,  274,  338,  408. 

Easton,  Rev.  T.  Chalmers,  on  the 
death  of  Dr.  Talmage,  420  ;  at 
his  funeral,  422. 

Edinburgh,  60,  97,  356. 

Edison,  Prof.  Thomas,  89. 

Education,  views  on,  152. 

Ellis,  Hon.  E.  J.,  81. 

Erskine  Theological  College,  Due 
West,  338. 

Evarts,  Hon.  William  M.,  283,  288. 

Ewer,  Rev.  Dr.,  123. 

Fairbanks,  Vice-president,  337. 

Fairchild,  Benjamin  L.,  234. 

Falls,  Samuel  B.,  38. 

Far-Rockaway,  First  Presbyter- 
ian Church  at,  229. 

Farwell,  Senator,  261. 

Faulkner,  Senator,  325. 

Ferguson,  James  B.,  269. 

Ferron,  Dr.,  his  experiments  with 
cholera,  162. 

Field,  Cyrus  W.,  lays  the  cable, 
249. 

Field,  Chief  Justice,  his  death,  336. 

Finney,  Dr.,  his  revival  meetings, 

4- 
Fish,  Rev.  Dr.,  29. 


INDEX 


429 


Fish,      Hamilton,      Secretary     to 

General  Grant,  70. 
Fiske,  Steven,  223. 
"  Florida,"  disaster  of,  133. 
Flower,  Roswell  P.,  223. 
Folger,  Mr.,  1 17. 
Food,  adulteration  of,  131. 
Foster,  John,  53. 
Fox,  George  L.,  71. 
Fox,  G.  V.,  266. 
Frankfort,  Kentucky,  275. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  173. 
Frazer,  Dr.,  120. 
Free  trade  question,  128. 
Freeman,  Mr.,  94. 
Frelinghuysen,  Dominie,  149. 
Frelinghuysen,  Frederick,  149. 
Frelinghuysen,  Frederick  T.,  115, 

144  ;   his  death,  149. 
Frelinghuysen,  Gen.  John,  149. 
Frelinghuysen,  Senator  Theodore, 

149. 
Fulton  Ferry,  new  bridge  at,  99. 
Funk,  Dr.,  1  57. 

Gallagher,  Dr.,  120. 

Gallows,  death  by  the,  198. 

Gambling  Pool  Bill,  protest  against, 
194. 

Gambetta,  122. 

Garcelon,  Governor,  102. 

Garfield,  President,  his  election, 
106;  attempt  on  his  life,  ill, 
112;  views  on  Mormonism,  113; 
reforms,  113;  result  of  his 
death,  113;  sermons,  114; 
characteristics,  1 15. 

Garfield,  Mrs.,  amount  subscribed, 
145. 

Gateville,  9. 

Gedney,  Judge,  224. 

Geogheghan,  the  poet,  224. 

George,  Henry,  223. 

Gettysburg,  battle  of,  38. 

Gilbert,  Judge,  193. 

Gilmore,  Pat,  224. 

Gladstone,  Mrs.,  240 ;  her  por- 
trait, 240  ;   illness,  357. 

Gladstone,  Mrs.  Herbert,  357. 

Gladstone,  Rt.  Hon.  W.  E.,  104, 


150;  his  policy  of  Home  Rule 
for  Ireland,  173,  239;  recep- 
tion of  Dr.  Talmage,  236 ; 
American  stories,  237  ;  view  on 
divorce,  237 ;  religion,  238  ; 
library,240;  congratulations, 284. 

Glasgow,  355. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  struggles  as 
an  author,  108. 

Gordon,  Senator,  256. 

Gorman,  Senator,  331. 

Gough,  John  B.,  his  gift  of  oratory, 
164  ;  dramatic  power,  164. 

Gould,  Jay,  172. 

Grace,Mr.,Mayor  of  New  York,  121. 

Grain,  failure  of,  in  Europe,  103  ; 
blockade  in  the  United  States, 
103. 

Grant,  General,  President,  92,  279  ; 
his  pension,  145  ;  malady,  145, 
148. 

Grant,  Mayor,  at  the  Press  Club, 
223. 

Greeley,  Horace,  131,  175  5  his 
sufferings  from  insomnia,  62. 

Greenport,  50  note. 

Greenwood  cemetery,  422. 

Greenwood,  Judge,  199. 

Greer,  Dr.,  amount  of  his  salary, 

247- 
Gregg,  Rev.  Dr.,  281. 
Grevy,  President,  his  resignation, 

200. 
Grier,  Dr.,  President  of  the  Ers- 

kine  Theological    College,  Due 

West,  338. 
Grinnell,  Moses  H.,  57. 
Guiteau,     assassinates     President 

Garfield,  113. 

Haddon  Hall,  351-353  ;    romance 

of,  352. 
Hagerstown,  221. 
Hall,  Rev.  Dr.,  154. 
Hall,    Dr.    John,    amount    of    his 

salary,  247. 
Hall,  Rev.  Dr.  Newman,  9;  :    at 

the  Mansion  House,  260. 
Hall,  Robert,  53. 
Halstead,  Murat,  283. 


430 


INDEX 


Hamilton,  Rev.  J.  Benson,  241. 

Hamilton  Club,  224. 

Hamlin,   Rev.   Dr.   T.    S.,    at   the 

funeral  of  Dr.  Talmage,  422. 
Hampton,  Governor  Wade,  81. 
Hancock,  John,  173. 
Handy,  Moses  P.,  223. 
Hanna,  Rev.  Dr.,  his  death,  254. 
Hanna,  Senator,  414. 
Hardman,  Dr.,  21,  his  method  of 

examining  Dr.  Talmage,  22. 
Harlan,  Justice,  337. 
Harper,  E.  B.,  224. 
Harrisburg,    396  ;     intemperance, 

45  ;   bribery,  46. 
Harrison,      President      Benjamin, 

257. 
Harrison,  Rev.  Leon,  241. 
Harrison,  William  Henry,  1 14,  257. 
Hatch,  A.  S.,  President  of  the  New 

York  Exchange,  135. 
Hatch,  Rufus,  224. 
Hawarden,  236,  357. 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  107. 
Hayes,   President,  70  ;    character 

of  his  message,  74. 
Hazlitt,  William,  his  struggles  as 

an  author,  108. 
Helsingfors,  368. 
Henderson,  Mr.,  321. 
Hendricks,     Thomas     A.,     Vice- 
president,    158;    his   character, 

159  ;  invulnerability  to  attacks, 

159;   religious  views,  160. 
Hendrix,  Joseph  C,  124,  241,  283. 
Hermann,  223. 
Herschel,   Lord,   325  5    his   illness 

and  death,  326. 
Hewitt,  Abram  S.,  elected  Mayor  of 

New  York,  188. 
Hicks-Lord  case,  76. 
High  Bridge,  275,  276. 
Hill,  Rev.  Dr.  John  Wesley,  396. 
Hill,  Rowland,  97. 
Hill,  Senator,  105. 
Hilton,  Judge  Henry,  116,  223. 
Holy  Land,  235. 
Holyrood  Palace,  59. 
Home     Missionary     meeting,     in 

Carnegie  Hall,  305. 


Howard,  Joseph,  224. 

Howell,  Mayor,  his  report  on  the 

condition  of  Brooklyn,  81. 
Hudson,  37. 
Hugo,  Victor,  107. 
Hull,  Isaac,  125. 
Huntington,   Dr.,   amount  of    his 

salary,  247. 
Hutchinson,  Dr.  Joseph,  196. 
Hydrophobia, inoculations  against, 

162. 


India,  famine  in,  298. 

Indiana,  elections,  124. 

Ingersoll,  Colonel  Robert,  70. 

Inness,  Fred,  221. 

Insomnia,  sufferings  from,  62. 

Iowa,  prohibition  in,  193. 

Ireland,  Home  Rule  for,  173,  239. 

Irish  Channel,  crossing  the,  391. 

Irving,  Washington,  85 ;  "  Knicker- 
bocker," 94  ;  appointed  Minis- 
ter to  Spain,  146. 

Isle  of  Wight,  389. 


Jackson,  Gen.  Andrew,  156. 
Jaehne,  Mr.,  his  incarceration,  175. 
Jamaica,   Long   Island,   synodical 

trial  at,  10 1. 
James,  General,  his  reforms  in  the 

Post  Office,  113. 
Jamestown,  339. 
Jefferson,  Joseph,  332. 
Jefferson,    Thomas,    inaugurated, 

Jews,  persecution  of,  in  Russia, 
118  ;   settle  in  America,  119. 

Johnson,  Andrew,  President, 
charges  against,  157. 

Johnstown,  result  of  the  flood  at, 


"  Kaiser  Wilhelm  der  Grosse,"  346. 
Kansas,  193  ;    its  age,   105  ;    pro- 
hibition in,  193. 
Katrine,  Loch,  356. 
Kean,  Edmund,  71. 
Keeley,  Dr.  Leslie,  254. 
Keller,  John  W.,  224. 


INDEX 


431 


Kennedy,  Dr.,  187. 

Killarney  lakes,  391. 

King,  Gen.  Horatio  C,  224,  241. 

Kingsley,  Mr.,  207. 

Kinsella, Thomas,  100,  130. 

Kintore,  Earl  of,  298,  356. 

Klondike,   arrival  of  gold-diggers 

from,  321. 
Knox,  E.  M.,  234. 
Knox,  John,  his  grave,  355. 
Knox,  J.  Amory,  224,  234. 
Krebs,  Dr.,  187. 


Lafayette  Avenue,  railroad  scheme, 
defeat  of,  79. 

Lake  Port,  Maryland,  409. 

Lamb,  Col.  Albert  P.,  224. 

Lamb,  Charles,  on  the  adultera- 
tion of  food,  131. 

Lambert,  Dr.,  case  of,  75. 

Lang,  Anton,  takes  part  in  the 
Passion  Play,  380. 

Langtry,  Mrs.,  391. 

Lansing,  Rev.  Dr.  I.  J.,  283. 

Laurence  Amos,  55. 

Laurier,  Sir  Wilfred,  325. 

Lawrence,  E.  H.,  233. 

Lawrence,  F.  W.,  286. 

Leadville,  its  age,  105  ;  number  of 
telephones,  105  5  vigilance  com- 
mittee, 106. 

Leamington,  358. 

Lectures,  fees  for,  40. 

Lee,  General,  his  invasion  of  Penn- 
sylvania, 38. 

Leeds,  collection  at,  97. 

Lennox,  James,  55,  194. 

Leslie,  Frank,  the  pioneer  of 
pictorial  journalism,  102. 

Lexington,  188,  275,  276. 

Liberty,  statue  of,  148-150. 

Lies,  system  of,  197. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  37  ;  violation 
of  his  sepulchre,  161  ;  his  letter, 

.397- 
Lincoln,  Robert,  Secretary  of  War, 

"3- 

Lind,  Jenny,  14. 


Lindsay,  Rev.  E.  P.,  338. 

Liverpool,  357  ;  addresses  given 
at,  97. 

Locke,  Commissioner  of  Appeals, 
107. 

Lodge,  Henry  Cabot,  224. 

Lomond,  Loch,  355. 

London,  Lord  Mayor  of,  his  ban- 
quet at  the  Mansion  House,  260. 

Long  Island,  229. 

Los  Angeles,  322. 

St.  Louis  railway  strike,  167. 

Louisiana,  State  of,  80. 

Low,   Seth,  Mayor    of    Brooklyn, 

I2Ij  133- 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  145. 
Lowndes,  Governor,  326. 
Lyle,  Lady,  389. 

Macaulay,  Lord,  188. 

Mackenzie,  Dr.,  his  death,  254. 

Mackey,  Mrs.,  261. 

Mackinaw  Island,  339. 

Madison,  273. 

Magruder,  Dr.  G.  L.,  418,  420. 

Maine,  outbreak  in,  102. 

Malone,    Rev.    Father    Sylvester, 

281. 
Manchester,     Cavendish     Chapel, 

348. 
Manderson,  Senator,  256  ;  his  Bill 

for   the    arbitration    of   strikes, 

172. 
Mangam,  Mrs.  Daniel,  420. 
Manning,  Daniel,  his  death,  200. 
Marietta,  Ohio,  317. 
Johnson,    Dr.    Samuel,    53  ;     his 

epitaph,  210. 
Marriages,  number  of  elopements, 

"37- 

Martin,  Mrs.  Bradley,  261. 
Martin,  Pauline  E.,  234. 
Mathews,  Charles,  his  death,  85  ; 

story  of,  85. 
Matthews,  T.  E.,  286. 
McAdam,  Judge  David,  224. 
McCauley,  Jerry,  136. 
McCormick,  Cyrus,  194. 
McDonald,  Senator,  261. 
McElroy,  Dr.,  187. 


432 


INDEX 


McGlynn,  Father,  191. 

McKean,  John,  125. 

McKinley,  President,  his  congratu- 
lations, 284  ;  election,  306  ; 
friendship  with  Dr.  Talmage,. 
330  ;   assassination,  409. 

McLean,  Alexander,  233. 

McLean,  Andrew,  241. 

McLeod,  Rev.  Donald,  installed 
pastor  of  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Washington,  341. 

Mead,  W.  D.,  269. 

Memphis,  339. 

Mendes,  Rabbi  F.  De  Sol,  281. 

Merigens,  George  T.,  38. 

Mershon,  Rev.  S.  L.,  57,  274. 

Mexico,  416. 

Michigan,  339,  409. 

Middlebrook,  New  Jersey,  1. 

Minado,  320. 

Ministers,  amount  of  salaries,  in 
the  United  States,  63. 

Minneapolis,  99. 

Mitchell,  Dr.,  120. 

Mitford,  108. 

Modjeska,  Mdme.,  332. 

Moliere,  the  comedian,  72. 

Monona  Lake,  273. 

Monroe  Doctrine,  304. 

Montauk  Point,  purchase  of,  99. 

Montreal,  326. 

Moore,  Charles  A.,  224. 

Moore,  DeWitt,  39,  43. 

Morey,  forgeries,  106. 

Morrisey,  John,  69. 

Moscow,  374. 

Mott,  Lucretia,  the  quakeress,  106. 

Munich,  375. 

Murphy,  Mr.,  207. 


Nagle,  Dr.,  224. 

Nansen,  the  explorer,  365. 

Napier,  Lord,  his  story  of  a 
wounded  soldier,  239. 

Nashville,  339. 

Neilson,  Judge  Joseph,i33, 193,204. 

New,  Mrs.,  261. 

New  Brunswick  Theological  Semin- 
ary, 15. 


New  Orleans,  340,  415,  418  ; 
victory,  8. 

New  York,  corrupt  condition,  64  ; 
69  ;  spread  of  Communism,  83  ; 
Historical  Society,  gift  to  the 
library,  109 ;  Passion  Play, 
attempt  to  present,  121  ;  pool 
rooms  opened,  147 ;  conflagra- 
tion of  1835,  23*  5  revival 
meetings,  407. 

New  York  University,  14. 

"  New  York,"  258. 

Newark,  19. 

Newspaper  reporter,  day  with  a, 
211-220. 

Newspapers,  reduction  in  the  price, 
123. 

Newstead  Abbey,  349. 

Newton,  Lady,  361. 

Newton,  Sir  Alfred,  Lord  Mayor, 
361. 

Nichols,  Governor,  81. 

Nicols,  Rev.  Dr.  S.  J.,  at  the 
funeral  of  Dr.  Talmage,  422. 

Nightingale,  Florence,  note  from, 
359  ;  receives  Dr.  Talmage,  360. 

North  Cape,  view  from,  of  the 
Midnight  Sun,  365,  366. 

North  River,  first  steamer,  8. 

Northern  Pacific  Railroad  Co.,  126. 

Nottingham,  260  5  Albert  Hall. 
348. 

Nutting,  A.  J.,  234. 

Oakley,  Rev.  Mr.,  51. 
Ober-Ammergau     Passion     Play, 

375  ;    impressions  of,    375-388  ; 

actors,  378. 
Ocean  Grove,  408. 
"  Oceanic,"  391. 
Ochiltree,  Colonel  Tom,  261  ;    at 

the  Press  Club,  223. 
Ogden,  104 

Ohio,  elections,  124;   River,  276. 
Olcott,  George  M.,  224. 
Omaha,  99,104  5  picture  galleries, 

106. 
Osborne,  Truman,  16. 
"Our    De 

on,  410. 


INDEX 


433 


Packer,  Asa  D.,  194. 

Paine,  Tom,  71. 

Palmer,  A.  M.,  261. 

Panics,  view  on,  290-293. 

Paris,    60,    236 ;      Exposition    of 

1900,  362,  388. 
Parker,  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph,  259  ;  his 
description  of  Dr.  Talmage's  ser- 
mon, 2595   congratulations,  284. 
Parkhurst,   Dr.,  258  ;    amount  of 

his  salary,  247. 
Parnell,  C.  S.,  in  New  York,  102  ; 
triumph  on  his  return  to  Eng- 
land, 163. 
Passaic  River,  29. 
Pasteur,     Dr.,     his     inoculations 

against  hydrophobia,  162. 
Patten,  Dr.,  120. 
Paxton,  Dr.,  amount  of  his  salary, 

247. 
Payne,    Mr.,    his    song    "  Home, 

Sweet  Home,"  108. 
Peabody,  George,  his  will,  73. 
Peace  Jubilee,  a  national,  43. 
Peck,  General,  defence  of,  362. 
Penn,  William,  156. 
Pennsylvania,        invasion,        38 ; 

election,  124. 
Peru,  war  with  Chili,  117. 
Peterhof,  Palace  of,  370. 
Peters,  Barnard,  281. 
Phelps,  Mr.,  145. 
Philadelphia,     Second     Reformed 

Church  of,  37. 
Phillips,  Wendell,  127. 
Pierce,  Dr.,  369. 
Pierce,  Mrs.,  370. 
Pierce,  President, opens  theWorld's 

Fair,  195. 
Pierce,  Senator,  his  Bill  for  a  new 
city  charter  for  Brooklyn,  78. 
Piermont,  25. 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  in  New  England, 

156. 
Pius  IX.,  Pope,  77. 
Policies,  International,  lecture  on, 

322. 
Polk,  Mrs.,  her  pension,  145. 
Pollock,  Robert,  ex-Governor,  22  ; 
report  of  his  speech,  41. 


11  Pomerania,"    s.s.,   loss    of, 

Pomeroy,  Rev.  C.  S.,  51. 

Pond,  Major,  96. 

Poor,  problem  of  the,  143. 

Potomac,  the,  38. 

Pratt,  Judge  C.  R.,  133,  224. 

Prayer,  the  influence  of,  148. 

Prentice,  Mr.,  207. 

Press  Club,  dinners  at,  223. 

Pressly,  Rev.  David  P.,  338. 

Preston,  William  C,  104. 

Pretoria,  capture  of,  361. 

Prime,  Rev.  Dr.,  71. 

Princeton,  301. 


Queenstown,  391. 

Railway  strike,  166. 

Rainsford,    Dr.,    amount    of    his 

salary,  247. 
Randall,  Mr.,  128. 
Raymond,  Henry  J.,  131. 
Reed,  Joseph,  166. 
Reed,  Speaker,  337. 
"  Rehypothication,"  crime  of,  j6. 
Reid,  Dr.,  120. 
Republican  party,  46. 
Reynolds,  Judge,  193. 
Rhode  Island,  115. 
Richards,  Rev.  Dr.,  27. 
Ridgeway,  James  W.,  124. 
Riley,  his  "  Universal  Philosophy," 

107. 
River  and  Harbour  Bill,  143. 
Robinson,  Lincoln,  102. 
Robinson,  William  E.,  241,  253. 
Roche,  Rev.   Spencer  F.,  281. 
Rockport,  newcable  landed  at,  135. 
Rockwell,  Rev.  J.    E.,  50. 
Roebling,  Mr.,  207. 
Roosevelt,  Theodore,  224,  422. 
Roosevelt,  Mrs.,  422. 
Rosa,  Parepa,  43. 
Roswell,  Mr.,  205. 
Ruskin,  John,    261  ;    his   literary 

works,  262. 
Russia,  263  ;   defeats  Turkey,  77  ; 

persecution   of   the  Jews,    118; 

famine,  264. 


434 


INDEX 


Russia,   Alexander   III.,   Czar  of, 

receives  Dr.  Talmage,  263-266  ; 

gift  to  him,  280. 
Russia,    Nicholas     II.,     Czar    of, 

receives  Dr.  Talmage,  371. 
Russia,  Czarina  of,  receives  Mrs. 

Talmage,  371  ;   her  appearance, 

37J- 

Russia,     Dowager     Empress     of, 

receives  Dr.  Talmage,  372. 
Russia,  Nicholas,  Grand  Duke,  264. 

Sacramento,  104  5  picture  galleries, 
106. 

Sage,  Russell,  his  loan  to  Brook- 
lyn Tabernacle,  268. 

Sailors,  character  of,  133. 

Salt  Lake  City,  104,  320. 

Salvation  Army,  meetings  in 
Brooklyn,  222. 

San  Antonio,  41 5. 

San  Francisco,  322 ;  the  first 
Presbyterian  Church  of,  49  ;  its 
age,  105  ;  picture  galleries,  106  ; 
amount  paid  by  Chinese,  174. 

Sand,  George,  character  of  her 
writings,  64. 

Sanderson,  driver  of  the  stage 
coach,  11. 

Sand-storm,  a  Mexican,  415. 

Sanitary  Protective  League,  organ- 
isation of,  143. 

Santa  Barbara,  322. 

Saratoga,  319. 

Scenery  Chapel,  97. 

Schenck,  Dr.  Noah  Hunt,  141. 

Schieren,  Major,  281. 

Schiller,  the  famous  comedian,  72. 

"  Schiller,"  the,  sinks,  134. 

Schley,  Admiral,  332,  336. 

Schroeder,  Frederick  A.,  99,  224. 

Schuylkill  River,  25  note. 

Scott,  Rev.  James  W.,  22 ;  his 
kindness  to  Dr.  Talmage,  22-24  ; 
death,  24. 

Scudder,  Dr.,  120. 

Seattle,  321. 

Seavey,  George  L.,  135  5  his  gift  to 
the  library  of  the  Historical 
Society,  New  York,  109. 


Seward,    William    H.,    102 ;     his 

death,  188. 
Shafter,  General,  336. 
Shaftesbury,    Lord,    his    funeral, 

155;      last     public     act,     155; 

President    of   various    societies, 

156. 
Shannon,  Patrick,  69. 
Sharon  Springs,  57. 
Sharpsburg,  221. 
Sheepshead  Bay,  races  at,  147. 
Sheffield,  357. 
Shelby  ville,  160. 
Sheridan,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  108. 
Sherman,  James,  97. 
Sherman,  John,  256,  284. 
Sherman,  Gen.  William  T.,  242. 
Shields,    Dr.,    417  5     attends    Dr. 

Talmage,     417 ;       accompanies 

him  home,  418. 
Siberia,  263. 
Silver  Bill,  passed,  80. 
Simpson,  Bishop,  136. 
Simpson,  Sir  Herbert,  356. 
Simpson,  Sir  James  Y.,  his  use  of 

chloroform,  207,  356. 
Skillman,  Dr.,  11. 
Slater,  Mr.,  194. 
Slocum,  General,  133. 
Smith,  Charles  Emory,  223. 
Smith,  Rev.  J.  Hyatt,   189;    his 

life  of  self-sacrifice,  190. 
Smith,  Mrs.  Warren  G.,  420. 
Somerville,  3,  9. 
Soudan  war,  146. 
Soulard,  A.  L.,  268. 
Southampton,  347. 
South  Carolina,  81. 
Spain,  war  with  the  United  States, 

320  ;  investigation  into,  336. 
Speer,  Dr.  Samuel  Thayer,  186. 
Spencer,  Dr.,  54. 
Spencer,  Rev.  W.  Ichabod,  186. 
Spring,  Dr.  Gardiner,  54,  187. 
Spurgeon,  Rev.  Charles  H.,  253  ; 

his  death,  254. 
Stafford,  Marshal,  241. 
Stanley,  Dean,  116. 


INDEX 


435 


Stead,    Mr.,    his    crusade    against 

crime,  153. 
Steele,  Dr.,  120. 
Steele,    Commissioner   of   stamps, 

107. 
Stephens,  Alexander  H.,  80. 
Stevens,  Mrs.  Paran,  261. 
Stevens,  W.,  30. 
Stewart,  Samuel  B.,  1 16. 
Stillman,  Benjamin  A.,  224. 
Stockholm,      Immanuel     Church, 

367- 

Stone,  Rev.  Dr.,  187. 

Stone,  Governor,  337.,  346. 

Storrs,  Rev.  R.  S.,  pastor  of  the 
Church  of  Pilgrims,  186. 

Stranahan,  J.  S.  T.,  120,  133,  224. 

Stratford-on-Avon,  358  ;  the  "  Red 
Horse  Hotel,"  97. 

Strikes,  167;  Bill  for  the  arbitra- 
tion of,  172. 

Stuart,  Francis  H.,  234. 

Stuart,  George  H.,  38. 

Sullivan-Ryan  prize  fight,  117. 

Summerfield,  Dr.  John,  187. 

Sunderland,  Rev.  Dr.  Byron  W., 
294,   410. 

Suydam,  Rev.  Dr.  Howard,  at  the 
burial  of  Dr.  Talmage,  422. 

Swansea,  267,  389. 

Sweden,  367. 

Swenson,  Mr.,  364. 

Syracuse,  35. 

Talmage,  Catherine,  her  character, 
3  ;  conversion,  5  ;  covenant 
with  her  neighbours,  5 ;  death,  6. 

Talmage,  Daisy,  50  note. 

Talmage,  Daniel,  10. 

Talmage,  David,  his  Christian 
principles,  3  ;  conversion,  5  : 
mode  of  conducting  prayer- 
meetings,  6  ;  fearlessness,  7  ; 
sheriff,  7  ;  scenes  of  his  life,  8  ; 
death,  9  ;    sons,  9. 

Talmage,  Edith,  50  note. 

Talmage,  Mrs.  Eleanor,  her  Bio- 
graphical Sketch  of  Dr.  Talmage, 
311  ;  first  meeting,  313;  mar- 
riage, 314  ;   accompanies  him  in 


his  travels,  315,  319;  attends 
his  lectures,  316;  held  up  in 
Yellowstone  Park,  320  ;  received 
by  the  Czarina,  371  ;  dedicates 
the  Wood  Green  Wesleyan 
Church,  390. 

Talmage,  Rev.  Frank  DeWitt, 
50  note,  420. 

Talmage,  Rev.  Goyn,  9. 

Talmage,  Rev.  James  R.,  9. 

Talmage,  Jehiel,  his  conversion,  5. 

Talmage,  Jessie,  25  note. 

Talmage,  Rev.  John  Van  Nest,  9  ; 
missionary  at  Amoy,  19  ;  de- 
votion to  the  Chinese,  91  ; 
death,  91  ;  reticence,  92  ;  work, 

93- 
Talmage,  Mrs.  Mary,  25  note. 
Talmage,    Maud,     50     note,    346, 

355,  420. 

Talmage,  May,  50  note,  235. 

Talmage,  Mrs.  Susan,  50  note,  235. 

Talmage,  Thomas  DeWitt,  his 
birth,  1  ;  ancestors,  2  ;  father, 
3  ;  mother,  3  ;  the  family 
Bible,  3 ;  conversion  of  his 
grand-parents  and  parents,  4 ; 
home,  9  ;  childhood,  10  ;  early 
religious  tendencies,  10  5  at  New 
York  University,  14;  New 
Brunswick  Theological  Semin- 
ary, 19;  conversion,  16;  first 
sermon,  19  ;  ordination,  21-23  ; 
pastorate  at  Belleville,  25  ; 
marriage,  25  note  ;  children,  25 
note,  50  note  ;   his  first  baptism, 

26  5     first    pastoral    visitation, 

27  ;  first  funeral,  29  5  pastorate 
at  Syracuse,  35  ;  first  literary 
lecture,  36  ;  call  to  Philadelphia, 
37 ;  amounts  received  for  his 
lectures,  40,  96  ;  at  the  National 
peace  jubilee,  43  ;  his  fear  of 
indolence,  48  ;  ministerial  ball 
club,  49  ;  second  marriage,  50 
note ;  call  to  Brooklyn,  50 ; 
installed,  51  ;  charges  against, 
51,  58,  945  character  of  his 
sermons,  53,  58,  315,  323,  395; 
establishes    the    first    Brooklyn 


436 


INDEX 


Tabernacle,  55;  vacations  at  East 
Hampton,  57,  274,  338,  408; 
visits  to  Europe,  59,  153,  258, 
346 ;  impressions  on  hearing 
the  organ  at  Freyburg,  59 ; 
meeting  with  Dr.  John  Brown, 
60  ;  in  Paris,  60,  362,  388  ;  ser- 
mons,  62,   220,   273,   286,   290, 

296,323,336,348,356,358,359, 
389,  396,  410-4125    on  the  size 
of  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  66  ; 
his  opinion  of  Church  fairs,  72  ; 
lecturing  tours,  80,  84,  143,  159, 
297>  326,  339,  348,  405,  4o8; 
opposes   the   effort   to   exclude 
the  Chinese,  90  ;    death  of  his 
brother  John,  91  ;  Gospel  meet- 
ings, 96,  289  ;  visits  to  the  house 
of  T.  Carlyle,  97  ;    trip  to  the 
West,  104,  172,  189  ;    views  on 
betting,  147  ;  on  education,  152: 
his  numerous  letters,   153-155  ; 
on  the  demands  of  Society,  169- 
171  ;    views  on  war,    181  ;    at 
Lexington,  188  ;  protest  against 
the  Gambling  Pool   Bill,    194 
proposal  of  a  World's  Fair,  195 
on  execution  by  electricity,  198 
advocates     free     trade,     200 
advice   on   books,   202-204 ;     a 
day  with  a  newspaper  reporter  ; 
212-220;    his  study,  212,  328; 
correspondence,  213-215  ;     visi- 
tors, 215-218  ;   appearance,  218, 
343  ;  pastoral  visit,  219  ;  chap- 
lain of  the  "  Old  Thirteenth  " 
Regiment,  221  ;  his  income,  221, 
225,  246  ;    dinners  at  the  Press 
Club,    223  ;     at    the    Hamilton 
Club,    224 ;     restlessness,    226  ; 
mode  of  life,  226,  329  ;  squib  on, 
228  ;   on  the  result  of  the  flood 
at    Johnstown,    228 ;     on    the 
lessons    learnt    from    conflagra- 
tions,  231  ;    appeal   for   funds, 
232;  consecration  of  the  ground, 

234  ;  his  visit  to  the  Holy  Land, 

235  ;  attack  of  influenza,  236  : 
visit  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  236-241  ; 
ovation  on  his  return  home,  241 ; 


on  the  revision  of  Creeds,  244  ; 
lays    the    corner    stone,    245  ; 
editor  of  periodicals,  245,  398  5 
critics,  246  ;  shaves  his  whiskers, 
248  ;    on   the  Higher  Criticism 
of   the    Bible,   253  5     preaching 
tours    in    England,    258,    267 ; 
views   on  dreaming,   258  ;    ser- 
mons in  the  City  Temple,  259  ; 
at    Nottingham,    260 ;     at    the 
Mansion  House,  260,  361  5  visits 
John  Ruskin,  261  ;   reception  in 
Russia,   263  ;    audience   of  the 
Czar  Alexander,  263-266  ;  dona- 
tion of  his  salary,  269  ;   resigna- 
tion,   270,    293,    333  ;     voyages 
across  the  ocean,  275,  346  ;  visit 
to    Governor    Blackburn,    275- 
279 ;      meeting     with     Senator 
Beck,   276  ;    presentation   of   a 
gold     tea-service,     280 ;      25th 
anniversary    of    his    pastorate, 
280-283  ;  his  speech,  282  ;  mes- 
sages   of    congratulation,   284 ; 
journey  round  the  world,  288  ; 
"  The  Earth  Girdled,"  289  ;  his 
views  on  panics,  290-293  ;    ac- 
cepts  the  call  to  Washington, 
294-296  ;  installed,  297  ;  recep- 
tion at  the  White  House,  297  ; 
intercourse  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cleveland,   300-306  ;    interview 
with  Major  McKinley,  307  ;  his 
characteristics,    312,    315,    317, 
343,     402-406 ;      magnetic    in- 
fluence,   313  ;     third   marriage, 
314;     cheerfulness,    315,    324; 
mode    of    travelling,    315  ;     his 
lectures,  316,  348,  396  ;  love  of 
flowers,    318  ;     in    Yellowstone 
Park,  320  ;    lecture  on  Interna- 
tional Policies, 1322  ;    his  sense 
of  duty,  323  ;  methodical  habits, 
329  ;    friendship  with  President 
McKinley,  330  ;    publication  of 
his     sermons,     334,     398  ;      his 
dinner    parties,    337 ;     at    Due 
West,  338  ;  love  of  music,  344  ; 
views  on  the  Boer  War,  347  ; 
visits    Newstead    Abbey,    349  ; 


INDEX 


437 


Haddon  Hall,  352  ;  Chatsworth, 
353;  Scotland,  355-357;  Haw- 
arden,  357  ;  "  The  American 
Spurgeon,"  358  ;  his  power  as 
an  orator,  358  ;  interview  with 
Florence  Nightingale,  360  ;  at 
Copenhagen,  363  ;  received  by 
the  Crown  Prince  of  Denmark, 
364  ;  ascends  North  Cape,  366  ; 
preaches  in  Stockholm,  367 ; 
at  St.  Petersburg,  368  ;  received 
by  the  Czar  Nicholas,  371  ;  the 
Dowager  Empress,  372  ;  at 
Berlin,  374  ;  his  impressions  of 
the  Passion  Play,  375-388  5  at 
Baden-baden,  388  ;  preaches  in 
John  Wesley's  Chapel,  388  ;  in 
Ireland,  391  ;  return  to  Amer- 
ica, 391  ;  his  vigour  and  en- 
thusiasm for  his  work,  393  ;  wel- 
come at  Brooklyn,  397 ;  style 
of  his  writings,  399  ;  personal 
mail,  399  ;  simple  tastes,  400  ; 
libraries,  401  5  reverence  for  the 
Bible,  401  ;  sense  of  humour, 
403  ;  will  power,  403  ;  perse- 
verance, 403-405  ;  eulogy  on 
Queen  Victoria,  406  ;  inaugur- 
ates Revival  meetings,  407  ;  his 
last  sermon,  410-412  ;  in  a  rail- 
way accident,  414  ;  in  Mexico, 
416  ;  audience  with  President 
Diaz,  417  ;  his  illness,  417-420  ; 
journey  home,  418  5  death,  420  ; 
funeral  service,  421  ;  burial, 
422 ;  tributes  to,  422 ;  his 
"  Celestial  Dream,"  423. 

Tappen,  Arthur,  56. 

Tariff  Reform  question,  128,  255  ; 
protective,  200. 

Taylor,  Alfred,  179. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  his  career,  90 ; 
number  of  his  books,  90  ;  death, 
90. 

Taylor,  Rev.  Dr.  Benjamin  C,  25. 

Taylor,  Robert,  179. 

Taylor,  Dr.  William  M.,  amount 
of  his  salary,  247. 

Taylor,  Zachary,  114. 

Tenney,  Judge,  94. 


Tennyson,  Lord,  156. 

Terhune,  Rev.  E.  P.,  241. 

Thomas,  Capt.,  heroism  of,  134. 

Thomasville,  414 ;  accident  at, 
414. 

Thompson,  Dr.  C.  C,  amount  of 
his  salary,  247. 

Thompson,  Rev.  Charles  L.,  283. 

Thompson,  Mr.,  Secretary  of  the 
Navy,  404. 

Thurber,  Frank  B.,  private  secre- 
tary to  President  Cleveland,  224, 

.303,  3°5- 

Tierney,  Judge,  133. 

Tolstoi,  Count,  263. 

Tracey,  General,  133,  283. 

Trenton,  intemperance,  45  ;  bri- 
bery, 46. 

Trondhjem,  365. 

Tucker,  Dr.  Harrison  A.,  233. 

Turkey,  defeated  by  Russia,  77. 

Tyler,  Mrs.,  her  pension,  145. 

Tyng,  Rev.  Stephen  H.,  62  ;  his 
sufferings  from  insomnia,  62. 

"  Uncle  John's  Place,"  9. 

United  States,  the  Civil  War,  38  ; 
result,  42,  74;  intemperance,  44; 
bribery,  45,  165-167 ;  salaries 
of  ministers,  63  ;  spread  of  com- 
munism, 83  ;  fever  for  spending 
money,  83  ;  predictions  of  dis- 
aster in  1878,  88  ;  legislative 
effort  to  exclude  the  Chinese, 
90 ;  commercial  frauds,  93  ;  paci- 
fication of  North  and  South,  113; 
purchase  of  grain,  103  ;  surplus 
for  export,  103  ;  blockade,  103  ; 
republican  candidates  for  the 
Presidency,  104  ;  quality  of  the 
new  Senators,  109 ;  interfer- 
ence in  foreign  affairs,  117; 
celebration  of  centennials,  124; 
adulteration  of  food,  13 1  ;  num- 
ber of  elopements,  137;  pro- 
blem of  the  poor,  143  ;  practice 
of  betting,  147 ;  demands  of 
Society,  1 69-1 71  ;  the  working 
people,  171  ;  number  of  wed- 
dings, 176;  sports,  177;  mania 


438 


INDEX 


for  rebuilding,  178';  fashions, 
183  j  slaughter  of  birds,  184  ; 
system  of  taxation,  197  ;  of  lies, 
197  ;  war  with  Spain,  320. 
Unrequited  services,  sermon  on, 
356,  359- 

Van  Buren,  cartoons  of,  175. 
Vanderbllt,  Cornelius,  his  will,  73. 

161  5   gift  to  a  medical  institute, 

141  ;   death,  160  5   protection  of 

his  remains,  161. 
Vanderbilt,     Mrs.,     her     remedy 

against  sea-sickness,  347. 
Van  Dyke,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry     51, 

4I3- 

Van  Nest,  John,  10. 
Van  Rensselaer,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  30. 
Van  Vranken,  Rev.  Dr.,  18. 
Vicksburg,  victory  at,  38. 
Victoria,  Queen,  character  of  her 

reign,  78  ;    first  cablegram,  250  ; 

her  death,  406. 
Vienna,  375. 
Villard,  Henry,  126. 
Vinton,  Rev.  Dr.,  187. 
Volapiik,  the  study  of,  205. 
Vredenburgh,  John,  17. 

Wadsworth,  Rev.  Charles,  48. 
Wales,  Prince  of,  at  Chatsworth, 

354- 
Walker,  Dr.  Mary,  her  appearance, 

33 1. 

Wall  Street,  failure  of  1884,  134. 

Wallace,  William  Copeland,  224. 

Walsh,  Senator,  283. 

Ward,  Ferdinand,  134. 

Ward,  Dr.  Samuel,  19,  30. 

Warner,  B.  H.,  335. 

Wars,  number  of,  in  1885,  146  ; 
cost,  158;    character,  181. 

Warsaw,  374. 

Washington,  intemperance,  45  ; 
bribery,  46  ;  Silver  Bill  passed, 
80 ;  number  of  appropriation 
Bills,  117  5  improvements,  255  ; 
First   Presbyterian    Church    at, 


294 ;  library  presented  to, 
335  5  Pan-Presbyterian  Coun- 
cil, 341. 

Washington,  George,  173  ;  his 
burial,  8. 

Watterson,  Henry,  255. 

Webb,  James  Watson,  131. 

Webster,  Daniel,  86,  104  ;  monu- 
ment erected  to,  128  ;  his  death, 
188. 

Webster,  Lily,  her  baptism,  26. 

Webster,  Noah,  his  dictionary,  76, 
107. 

Weed,  Thurlow,  131. 

Wesley,  John,  52  5   caricatures  of, 

53- 
Westminster  Hall,  dynamite  out- 
rage, 142. 
Wheeler,  General,  336. 
WThite,  Chief  Justice,  208. 
White,  Doc,  224. 
White,  Henry  Kirke,  258. 
White,  Mr.,  361. 
Whitefield,   George,   caricature   of 

his  preaching,  52. 
Whitney,  ex-Mayor,  241. 
Whittemore,   Miss    Susan   C,   her 

marriage,  50  note. 
Whittier,    John    Greenleaf,    251  ; 

poem,  252. 
Wilber,  Mark  D.,  241. 
WTilder,  Marshall  P.,  346. 
Williams,  General  and  Mrs.,  261. 
Williams,  William  B.,  224. 
Wills,   number   of   disputes    over, 

142. 
Wilson,  Henry,  his  death,  188. 
Windom,  Secretary,  113. 
Winslow,  Hon.  John,  224,  281. 
Wisconsin,  409. 
Witherspoon,    Dr.,    advice    from;, 

154. 
Wolfe,  Miss,  55  ;    her  bequest  to 

the  Church,  194. 
Wood    Green    Wesleyan    Church, 

dedication  of,  390. 
Wood,  John,  233,  269. 
Woodford,  Gen.  Stewart  L.,  133, 

224. 


INDEX 


439 


Woodruff,  T.  L.,  224. 
Woodward,  Mr.,  157. 
World's  Fair,  195. 
Wrench,  Dr.,  351,  353. 
Wright,  Silas,  102. 
Wiirttemberg,  374. 
Wycoff,  Mrs.  Clarence,  420. 
Wyndham,  Mr.,  368. 


Yellow  fever,  scourge  of,  87. 
Yellowstone  Park,  320. 

Zanesville,  317. 

Zwink,   John,   takes    part   in    the 

Passion    Play,    380 ;     character 

of  his  acting,  381. 


GARDEN    CITY    PRESS    LIMITED,    PRINTERS,    LETCHWORTH,    HERTS. 


Date  Due 


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I 


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WH   I'llmiM. 


